Chances
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: One event in a person's life can have a ripple effect across the nation. What happens when an ordinary day suddenly goes horribly wrong? [Updated April 21]
1. Prologue

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: This is Terry's side of the events in 'Changes and Choices' as well as those of her coworkers on both sides of the nation. It's not necessary to read the other story first to understand the storyline here, though it is recommended to avoid any possible confusion.

* * *

She looked up. Banitek Towers rose into the Los Angeles skyline above her, casting a cool shadow in the afternoon sun. '_He's incapable of controlling his anger and he will be angry that we've emptied the plaza. He'll lash out — Edgerton said that'd throw off his breathing rhythm, results in poor accuracy. We all have a chance to go home today._' Armed police officers and S.W.A.T. team members moved past her in hurried strides. The deafening roar of helicopters circling above her served to disrupt Crane's wind, hopefully enough to prevent him from firing. She stayed close by Don's side as he roamed the scene, privately thanking her lucky stars they were finally approaching cover; he wasn't paying complete attention to his surroundings as he gave orders to the various departments, trusting her to watch his back. '_If Crane starts firing, if I can't restrain Don, at least I can pull him behind the patrol car._' An unmarked Bureau car pulled up to the scene. David was standing only a few feet away, following Don's instructions to position the coming reinforcements into a wide dragnet if Crane chose to flee. 

Her heart pounding, she watched as Charlie got out of the car. '_This is a memory,_' she repeated the mantra to herself '_This is just a memory. You know how it's going to turn out. This is just a memory._' Don, his eyes scanning the scene, spotted his distracted, younger brother. He ran toward Charlie, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Charlie, GET DOWN!" he yelled just as the first shot rang out. David spun around, his phone falling to the ground as he ran to push Charlie down. Charlie looked up in puzzlement before his face contorted in anguish. He scrambled to his feet. "Don!" The clipboard fell to the sidewalk as more shots rang out. Terry looked down, wondering why Don wasn't running for Charlie like he had that day. '_This is a memory, so why are things different?_' Her breath caught in her throat. '_No, no, no, this never happened. This didn't happen. He can't be…_'

"No, no, no, God no," she muttered frantically as she sank down next to Don's body, a pool of blood blossoming on the pavement. The bullet had caught him in the back. "Don? Don?" She gathered him in her arms, trying to stop the bleeding. '_This can't be happening. This didn't happen._' His breathing was labored and his eyes were closed. Charlie was by her side, holding Don's hand, his face white with terror. '_You can't leave Charlie like this. Please._'

"Where are the paramedics!" she demanded, her heart pounding with fear. "Hang in there," she begged him softly, "please Don." '_No Don, please, you can't leave me. I haven't even told you._' She could feel his breaths becoming shallower, the blood was flowing across her fingers more slowly… The wail of the all too distant sirens told her that it was too late.

"No…" she whimpered, tears clouding her vision. "Don't, Don," she begged quietly, whispering in his ear. "Don't leave us like this. Don't leave me. Please." '_I love you, I love you, please, stay alive for me. Please._' A very soft sigh was her only reply. "No…" There was a second of incomprehension before a wail of heart-stricken grief tore the silent afternoon as she cradled Don's lifeless body, anguish filling her soul.


	2. Chapter 1

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

* * *

FBI Compound, Instructor Housing  
Quantico, Virginia  
(3:47 AM Local Time)

Terry woke suddenly, sitting up in bed, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, her breathing coming in unsteady gasps and her eyes watering. Her pillow was wet with tears. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, trying to take deep breaths to calm herself. '_It was just a nightmare. That didn't happen. It never happened. He's okay. Everyone's okay._'

She remembered that day. Charlie was the one who had nearly died. Don was the one who nearly had a heart attack. But no one died that sunny afternoon except the sniper Nathan Crane. Everyone she loved — '_No, who I care about_,' she corrected herself even now — had gone home safe and sound. So why was the same nightmare plaguing her, even now? In her dreams, it was never Charlie who was hurt. It was Don. It was always Don. The trained psychologist in her mind informed her, '_That's because you love him and you're worried about him. Your suppressed anxieties are expressing themselves through your dreams._'

'_Thanks,_' she thought back sarcastically, '_like I couldn't figure that one out for myself._' She concentrated on her breathing, trying to relax her tense muscles.

_"It's random, malicious. A bullet that can come from anywhere take anyone, you know?"_ When she had said them to David, riding in the safety of a car, she had never thought those words would apply to anyone she cared deeply about. Sure, the psychologist in her knew that the bullet from anywhere could take the life of _anyone_ — including the people she trusted and loved. But when she heard that shot echo through the plaza — that's when her _heart_ finally understood. The people she loved didn't have any special protection from harm; she could lose them at any moment. Ever since then, she had the same nightmare over and over: Don dying in her arms before she could tell him what she felt for him. It was worse than having murderers hunting her down in her sleep.

She groaned quietly to herself. _This is getting out of hand._ The trauma of losing him almost every night in her dreams had paled in her relief of seeing him alive and unscathed in reality every morning when she was in Los Angeles. Terry wished that she had the assurance of seeing him when she got to the office in a few hours' time. But in her current situation, her nightmares were becoming more than she could handle by herself. He was always there to anchor her, knowingly or not. She closed her eyes, willing her mind to block out any images of Don bleeding to death on the cold hard pavement, and instead, recalled faded memories of waking up in his arms over a decade ago. She remembered more recent comforting hugs after difficult cases, when he had taken her home, wiped her tears away, and given her silent understanding without meaningless platitudes.

Her breathing slowly steadying in the face of these positive memories, Terry looked at her alarm clock. It was four in the morning. '_I won't get anymore sleep tonight. I might as well get up._' Despite that thought, she stayed in bed a little while longer until she stopped shaking so badly.

* * *

(5:30 AM)

Terry sipped her morning coffee as she looked out across the FBI compound. There were a few people already out in the pre-dawn light, running their daily paths. '_Trainees most likely; they still have the ability to sleep through the night._' She sighed at that thought. While the change of scenery had been nice, coming to Quantico had raised her stress levels. She glanced at the kitchen table, which had two neat piles on it: one of graded papers and the other of multiple case folders. She understood now how Charlie must have felt at times, torn between his academic and consulting duties. Besides teaching four classes at the Academy, she was working on a case that required her to do multiple 'interviews' with multiple perps and after each interrogation, she had to update each one's profile. So in addition to a surge in nightmares, Terry had to deal with a flood of paperwork. It certainly didn't sweeten her mood.

'_But I'll be going home soon,_' she told herself. '_Then everything will be back to normal._' Of course, returning to L.A. meant that she going to be right back to where she started a month ago: a very confused and frustrated woman in love with Don Eppes. She had meant to take this month in Virginia as an unofficial stress leave when she could sort out everything she wanted to say to him when she returned to Los Angeles. It was clear that this distance between them was a brief reprieve from their blossoming relationship and she wanted to sort out her feelings. However, life and the Bureau had other plans. She hadn't had the time to really think about everything.

But her last night in L.A. was certainly a turning point. '_He kissed me back. And that look…_' Terry remembered that look — a mixed one of longing and worry, of pure honesty when he said he wasn't sorry. It had frightened her, the tenderness and understanding she saw in his eyes. She had fled and he had let her go. '_He let it drop. Does it mean he's letting me take the first step? Is he testing the waters? Or does he know about my feelings already? If he does, why didn't he say anything? Or is he unsure about _my_ feelings, like I am of his, and trying to figure out if I feel the same way as him? Why can't he be straightforward about this!'_ She stopped her train of thought. It usually ended up going in circles and did her no good at all. She knew that Don would never knowingly hurt her. Despite his tough exterior, he was too much of a gentleman for that. But that good-bye kiss was enough to confuse her to no end. It was like the old children's superstition with daisies that went: _Pluck._ "He loves me." _Pluck._ "He loves me not." _Pluck._ "He loves me." '_If love were only that simple…_' Then she laughed softly, imaging herself sitting in a field of daisies before her thoughts drifted onto Charlie and his Fibonacci sequence to — where else? — Don, and from there, her nightmare.

'_Enough._' She put down her coffee cup. '_A brief run, a shower and then I'll go set up for classes today,_' she decided. Terry rinsed out her mug and set it on the dish rack to dry. Without consciously realizing it, she began to build up the walls that allowed her to stay detached from the horrors of her job. Every emotion was carefully packed away until her mind was clear of any personal debris that might interfere with her work. Soon, the memory of her nightmare was tucked away in the back of her mind and she pretended to forget it ever happened.

* * *

FBI Academy, Room 204  
(7:58 AM, Local Time)

Terry watched silently as her students entered her classroom for her first class of the day. These were the newest trainees, bright and eager to learn — sometimes irritatingly so. She had been teaching them the basics of profiling for nearly a month now and by the end of her first class with them, she could roughly pick out those who would pass the class and those who would inch by. By the end of the first week, she had singled out those who would choose Behavioral Analysis as their major. By the end of the third, she knew who would and wouldn't survive as FBI profilers. It was a tough field and only a few agents in every graduating class had the right abilities to endure its merciless demands.

She had been a profiler for nearly ten years now. Detachment was always difficult for her. How could it not be? She got inside criminals' minds, analyzed their actions, predicted their next moves, found their weaknesses and cracked them open in interrogation. It was her job and Terry was good at it. That didn't mean it didn't come with a cost. Sometimes, she was surprised she didn't wake up more often in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, heart pounding, a strangled scream in her throat. The nightmares came from situations that went south, a wrong profile that cost lives, or her coworkers falling victim to violent deaths that she was helpless to prevent. If she was lucky, she would collapse back into an exhausted sleep. If she wasn't, she faced sleepless hours terrorized by the criminals she helped put away. And when the sun rose, she had to get up and go to work like nothing was wrong.

As for her social life, men either wanted to hear the gory details of her job or were irritated by how she always had her pager with her. One had even gone so far as accuse her of being married to her job. Needless to say, that date had ended quickly. Most of the time, however, it was her lack of emotions during dates that turned men off. They didn't understand it was how she always protected herself during emotionally-draining cases. She had taught her soul to retreat into herself until the case was over before going home and doing whatever she needed to exorcise her demons, from simply writing to crying for hours.

Her dates, on the other hand, wanted smiles, laughter, caresses, human contact and interaction — what they usually got when they dated the average civilian female. What they didn't understand was that Terry Lake was hardly average. She was a woman successfully working in a predominantly male-career, who regularly dealt with criminals that would frighten the wits out of any of her dates. As such, she couldn't give those things so easily. Her job warned her against it. Emotions were dangerous and put agents at risk. An agent wasn't supposed to think with his or her heart about solving cases; an agent dealt with cases using his or her mind. The Ballard case was one of the rare times Terry had thought with her heart instead of her logic, and it had gotten her in trouble. Both officially and personally. Because the crime had hit too close to home for her, because no one on her team had denied that she bore a shockingly similar countenance to the banker's wife, because she had walked away from the woman's mangled body in tears. She had carried the bitterness of justice unserved with her for years, until Don helped her make sure the man went away for his crime.

People complimented her on how normal a life she seemed to have, how her personality seemed unaffected by her work. She usually smiled in reply and said nothing. Yes, it was true that old college friends found it difficult to distinguish between the Terry they knew and the woman she was now. She was a little older, a little worldlier and a little more cynical, but beyond that, she hadn't changed much. The only reason she was able to appear unchanged were the emotional walls that she surrounded herself with. Complete detachment was the only surefire way to survive as a FBI profiler, but it involved sacrificing everything else. Including love. '_And I'm sick of it._' Terry glanced at her watch. '_Eight o'clock__. And what a beautiful morning it is._'

"Morning everyone," she raised her voice, her tone warning against disobedience. The agents-in-training quickly took their seats. "Today, we're going to cover the basics of interviews and interrogations. Who can tell me the difference?"

* * *

FBI Field Office  
Quantico, Virginia  
(5:30 PM, Local Time)

Terry walked out of the interrogation room, her lower back aching slightly from an afternoon of extensive interrogations. FBI Special Agent William Kirsch walked past her, escorting their scowling prisoner back down to the holding cells. The interrogation had gone smoothly and she was fairly sure that after a night of pondering his options, the prisoner would willingly turn State's witness. Of course, it had taken some persuasion on her part (nearly two hours worth) to get the man to see her point of view and the benefits of testifying against his former 'friends.'

It was nearing the end of a long day and an exhausting week. The nightmare had effectively robbed her of two hours of sleep, furthering her sleep debt. Terry had arrived at her classroom at seven, started teaching her three hour-long classes at eight. After a brief break for lunch and a short nap, she had hurried to the office to conduct interrogations for a major investigation. She had spent the majority of the afternoon in the same room with some of the most chauvinistic macho criminals she had ever met and, on a deep level, she knew it unnerved her. A part of her wished that she could feel the reassuring presence of her friends watching her back from the other side of the mirror.

As she navigated through the unfamiliar office layout, she felt a pang of longing for Los Angeles and her coworkers. The first week here in Quantico, Terry had constantly found herself thinking that if she just turned her head slightly from her paperwork, she would see Don sitting at his desk, making phone calls or thinking about their latest case, frowning ever so slightly as he turned over the details in his mind. Or if she turned around, she would observe Charlie perched on his brother's desk, frantically scribbling an equation on a notepad or running a program on the computer. And that if she just looked up, she would find David hovering over the top edge of her cubicle, eager to share information that he had just found. Of course, her team and friends were all the way across the country each time she did look up, thinking she had heard their voices. The second and third weeks were no better, despite all she did to ignore her feelings. They just wouldn't leave her alone. And by this week, she was about ready to chuck her psychology textbook at the wall in pure frustration at her behavior.

She was _not_ the type to suffer homesickness nor was she the type to cling. If she was, she wouldn't have become a FBI agent. But the fact was she was suffering homesickness, and she had a very good idea why. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to solve that problem, now or anywhere in the near future. The beginnings of a throbbing headache were starting to plague her. This was really neither the place nor time to deal with her personal emotions. '_All I want to do right now is go back to my room, collapse into bed and get some sleep and deal with all of this tomorrow… or Monday._' Instead, she glanced at her watch as she dropped off her notepad at her temporary desk. There was probably enough time for her to conduct one more interrogation before going back to the FBI compound and calling Don.

Don Eppes. She restrained the sigh that threatened to escape from her, half longing, half exasperation as she made her way toward the break room. Oh, she had crossed the boundary between partner-friend to romantic love a long time ago with that man. Now it was love unrequited or was it? And that question was driving her crazy. It was bad enough that she had to work with him day in and day out and being unable to make any move on him because of fraternization rules. It was worse that she had to lose control and kiss him just before she left Los Angeles. '_But he returned that kiss and he also said he wasn't sorry,_' a little voice reminded her. '_And then I had to go and run away,_' she snapped back at herself.

'_Well, you have to admit he kind of sprung it on you._'

'_Does it _matter_? If I am in love with him, then why did I try to apologize?_'

'_Terry, you don't know if he feels the same way as you do and you needed to go home and pack._'

'_Since when does packing my bags, which were already packed by the way, qualify as a good excuse?_' When she started having mental snipping contests, Terry knew she was much too short on sleep and that her emotional walls were crumbling. '_Which is not good because Alverez is going to be difficult to crack and he'll try every trick in the book to unnerve me.__ And I can't let him know it if he does._'

She poured herself a cup of coffee. '_One more 'conversation' and I am going home!_' she decided. The complex case was running everyone ragged, including the woman in charge of it all. Terry stepped out onto the third-story office balcony to get a breath of fresh air. But she wasn't alone. FBI Special Agent Jasmine Lewis, the agent who had invited Terry onto this case, was already outside. She smiled at Terry, her own hands wrapped around her own coffee mug, "Hi Terry."

"Hi Jasmine," replied Terry, standing next to her friend, watching the summer sun slowly sink toward the horizon. It was a different view from Los Angeles and Terry took the moment to relax as much as she dared to do while at work.

"How are they going?" asked Jasmine wearily. Her normally-bound hair was free of any restraints and the wind played with the ends of her brown hair. Terry knew that Jasmine was under heavy pressure from the brass to wrap the high-stakes case up quickly before anyone got hurt. Raids and arrests were happening almost every night as the FBI worked to bring down the heavily-armed drug cartel.

"Good. Ricardo and Garcia seem willing to make plea bargains in exchange for their testimonies, but Alverez is the one who knows the most."

"You've questioned him already?"

Terry took a sip of her coffee. "No, Kirsch is bringing him up right now. After I finish this" — she raised her cup slightly— "I'll go talk with him. But if those two indicate anything, it's going to be tough to flip him."

Jasmine sighed wearily. Terry smiled slightly, "Just because it's tough doesn't mean it's impossible."

"I know. You're one of the best. That's why I asked you to come aboard. Still…" Jasmine looked out across the view. "I'll be happy when this case is over and done with."

"So will I," Terry said softly, not realizing she had spoken aloud.

* * *

Jasmine glanced over at her colleague's soft remark. When she had first met Terry Lake, her first impression was a self-assured agent who was confident in her abilities. As the weeks had passed, Jasmine knew her initial read was right on target. But while she was an excellent forensic psychologist and colleague, whenever Terry relaxed slightly — like now — a small frown would settle on her lips and a quick glance at her expression would tell anyone that her thoughts were miles away from Quantico. Where her thoughts truly were was anybody's guess, but Jasmine suspected that Terry was homesick for L.A. and for whomever she had left behind there. Silently, she worried about her colleague's behavior. If Terry relaxed around a suspect at the wrong moment — '_Not that she would_,' Jasmine knew her coworker was too experienced an agent to commit such a dangerous mistake — '_But if she relaxes…_' Jasmine shoved the persistent thought away. '_I'm being paranoid_,' she chided. '_Terry's more experienced than I am. She knows what she's doing. There's no need to worry._' Then her eyes drifted down to Terry's belt.

* * *

Terry was thinking about David's email. It had been brief and vague, only telling her that a major case was going on right now that demanded all of their time. He wrote that the office missed her presence and that Don seemed rather stressed out by the nature of the case. A US Marshal had been killed by a federal prisoner and that had galvanized all the local law enforcement agencies into action. The problem was, the fugitive seemed to have carbon copies walking around L.A. There were too many sightings for the majority of them to be believable. Charlie was trying his best to help pinpoint the man's movements, but public hysteria was hindering their progress. Otherwise than that, everyone was all right, just tired and looking forward to putting the escapee back behind bars. '_The lot of an agent is the same everywhere,_' she thought wryly. '_A time-consuming case that's hindered by a well-meaning, but panicked public that has to be closed on a tight schedule or else heads will roll — literally and figuratively._'

She worried a little about Don. Terry knew he would be careful, but she also knew that whenever there was someone else in danger, he didn't hesitate for a second to help them. The Charm School Boys had shaken her to the core when they opened fire at the bank. McKnight had gone down in front of her. It took all of her training to ignore his body, sprawled out on the pavement. Bile rose in her throat when she had realized he wasn't moving at all. Then Don arrived at the scene. She had covered for him; fervently praying that he wouldn't put himself in greater danger than they all were already in and knowing he wouldn't for their colleague's sake. When Don looked at her and shook his head after checking the other man's pulse, she knew that the case would close. None of them would rest until his murderers were behind bars for the rest of their lives or buried six feet under. But Don would feel responsible and she knew, come hell or high water, the Charm School Boys wouldn't escape justice.

She still remembered the stab of fear that had pierced her heart when she heard the gunshot echo through the basement. She had run toward the sound, hoping that Don was the one who had fired. Her heart had skipped a painful beat when she saw him on the ground and the silhouette of a weapon in the perp's hand. But she had immediately calmed her breathing and opened fire. The man had fled and Don, thank God, had pulled himself out of the debris.

_"Are you hit?" she asked, touching his shoulder gently. 'Please tell me you're all right.'_

_"He's got my gun! Go that way!" he answered. A part of her shook her head in exasperation at his typical reply. 'Like hell, and leave you unarmed?' another part of her answered back._

_"Are you hit?" _She still hoped that he hadn't heard the nearly hysterical undertone of her question. She doubted it, most people only heard the firmness of her voice, but Don wasn't 'most people.' He had an uncanny knack of reading her emotions just by listening to her. If he had, he had never said a word to her about it, then or afterwards. _'Damn it, answer me Don! I need to know if the blood is yours or his!' she demanded silently._

_"Go that way!" he insisted, getting to his feet. She gave up, thinking 'If the patient can run away from the treatment, he's not sick enough to need it.'_ But that didn't mean she didn't feel nauseous the first few times she saw the white bandaging on his arm. She saw for herself how close the man was to Don. '_He didn't hesitate to kill McKnight. He could have easily gone for a head shot…_' Terry shoved those thoughts away. She couldn't worry about what had already happened. Don had survived with a graze to the arm. '_Just a graze, nothing serious,_' she had repeated to herself over and over like a mantra. And, in the end, they had caught the Charm School Boys with only one shot fired and one fatality.

After Skidmore and his crew were booked into the holding cells, Terry had gone home and cried, curled up on her living room couch. Her mail, unchecked for several days, had included an invitation to attend Ned McKnight's memorial service. She went, as did everyone at the office. After the service, she did her best to comfort her colleagues before Don found her and took her to a quiet local café that both of them frequented after hard cases. There, they had drank tea and coffee and talked about nothing really until she started to cry. Then he drove her home, settled her in bed and reluctantly left her apartment after she told him she was going to be okay. Throughout the whole time, he had acted like a gentleman and friend to her.

At that time, she had put it down to his caring nature and perhaps his need to return favors that caused him to look after her like that. She had done the same for him when his mother died, letting him into her home in the middle of the night to talk or simply to be there. Terry recalled more nights spent with him sleeping on her couch while she curled up in her bed without a word being exchanged between them than nights of conversation. But with that kiss…_maybe it had been something more on his part, something more than just friendship_.

* * *

"Terry, why aren't you carrying?" asked Jasmine nervously. Terry, startled out of her thoughts by the sudden remark, blinked before she understood what her colleague was asking. She took a sip of her coffee before answering, "I just don't think it's a good idea, especially since I'm doing these interrogations solo."

"I'd be more than happy—"

"No, it's okay," she shook her head at the offer. As the agent-in-charge, Jasmine had more pressing things to do than hold her hand while she conducted interrogations. "Besides, they're more likely to open up to me if they don't perceive me as a threat."

"Alverez is tough," warned Jasmine. "It took several S.W.A.T. guys to bring him in." She glanced at her friend, "Just be careful."

"I will," answered Terry. The two female agents drank in silence.

"Do you want to call him?" Jasmine asked her, putting down her coffee cup as she did so.

"Who?" asked Terry blankly, even though she knew full well who her colleague was referring to.

"Him," her friend replied simply.

"It's okay." Terry looked away. "I don't want to worry him by calling early." She was fairly sure that Jasmine didn't know the identity of the person she called every other night at 8:30 and she intended to keep it that way. There was no telling how Jasmine would react. She knew that Don was Terry's supervisor and partner. And…well, what good non-romantic explanation was there to explain why she called him every other night, if only for a few minutes?

If she was going to be honest with herself, she missed Don. While she prided herself for being independent, she like the way he treated her: trusting her to take care of herself, yet capable of expressing the right amount of concern for her well-being without being smoothing. He respected her and didn't mind when it took a while for her walls to come down. '_Come to think of it… I think he's the only one who hasn't had too much trouble with all my barriers…_' She wondered how he was doing. Their last phone call had been brief. He was in the middle of a manhunt and had neither the time nor the attention span needed to talk.

_

* * *

"Hi Don," she said, curled up on the couch, worn-out by two classes followed by several rounds of interrogations on six hours of sleep. She was barely thinking clearly._

_"Hi Terry," he said, sounding distracted. In the background she heard the __L.A.__ field office in organized chaos, with phones ringing over the hum of urgent conversations. It was clear that the hunt was still in full swing, and from the frustration in his voice (she knew it wasn't directed at her, but rather the investigation), going nowhere._

_"How's everything going?" she asked, even though she knew the answer would be grim._

_"Um, busy," he replied. He covered the phone with his hand for a hurried conversation with David. "Uh, Terry, I don't have a lot of time to talk right now, but maybe you can help."_

_"Sure."_

_"The fugitive's a convicted killer-for-hire. Now he's threatened the witness who put him away at trial, but Charlie says that it's possible that he's hunting someone else. There're too many sightings to be sure."_

_"I think he'd go after the witness. Who is it?"_

_"Dr. Karen Fisher." Terry dredged up the old case from her memory, "Is she in Witness Protection?"_

_"She's being stubborn right now. She refuses to go unless it's absolutely necessary. I've got two LAPD police officers and an agent on her at all times, but any advice you could give me about persuading her…"_

_"I doubt she's going to go easily," she replied, remembering the strong-willed woman who hadn't quailed from the death threat issued by McDowd despite having watched him kill someone else right in front of her. "Have you told her it's only temporarily?"_

_"Yeah, she says she doesn't want to lose six months of her life again and that she won't abandon her patients unless she absolutely has to."_

_"Family?"_

_"She doesn't have any family in the area either, so I can't use that card."_

_"Sorry."_

_"It's okay," Don sighed, "How are things for you?"_

_"Good," she lied, not wanting him to worry about her. "I'll probably be busy for the next few days, so don't worry if my call is a little late."_

_"Okay." She heard his chair creak and knew that someone had caught his attention. "I gotta go, bye."_

_"Bye," she managed before he hung up. Terry sighed. He was okay for another day, but she doubted her sleep would be restful tonight._

* * *

"Worried about them?" asked Jasmine, looking back to the settling sun.

"Huh?"

"Your team in LA," Jasmine sipped her cooling coffee. "A friend of mine called earlier, said the McDowd case is closed. Brief shoot-out, no fatalities, and McDowd in custody; turns out a dirty Narco was involved; nearly got the witness killed, but the lead agent got lucky."

'_And may he always be lucky._' Terry prayed silently, saying aloud, "That's good." Silence descended again as the two women enjoyed their respite from the unrelenting pressures of their work. Terry looked down at her coffee cup, surprised that it was already empty. She glanced at Jasmine. The other woman was reabsorbed in her thoughts, so Terry quietly slipped away from the balcony.

"Thanks, Terry," said Jasmine suddenly, "For everything."

"You're welcome," was the reply before Terry opened the glass door and returned to her work.

* * *

After washing out her coffee cup and putting it in the break room's dish rack to dry, Terry discovered that Kirsch was detained downstairs. Apparently, Garcia hadn't been as cooperative as they all thought he would be. There was a minor altercation, but everything was under control, just slightly delayed for a few minutes. She took the time to sit down at her desk and organize the papers that were scattered all over it as well as finish making notes for the three interrogations she had already done that day.

"Excuse me, Agent Lake?" A woman's quiet voice caught Terry's attention and she looked up. FBI Special Agent Lisa Henderson stood next to Terry's desk, a folder in hand. Henderson handed the information to Terry who silently accepted it, waiting for the accompanying explanation.

"It's Alverez's file," said Henderson, "including his rap sheet. I thought you might find it helpful before Kirsch brings him up."

"Thanks," Terry smiled politely as she did when she was at work. The younger woman nodded and returned to her desk. Terry followed her movements out of interest. Lisa was a quiet, but self-assured agent who had the ability to exude innocence, while concealing a veteran's biting sarcasm. She had first caught Terry's attention as a profiler and then as a person. Lisa was young and, according to Jasmine, fairly new to the office, but she was able to assert herself respectfully into conversations without offending any of the older agents. Most of the time she reminded Terry of David, willing to contribute and learn at the same time, knowing when to assert her knowledge and when to just shut up and observe. '_Of course, Don will be teaching David a lot of things about fugitive recovery…_'

'_There I go again._' She reminded herself to focus on what she had to do as she began to read through Alverez's information. By the time Lisa came around to inform her that Kirsch was on his way up with the prisoner, Terry was back in a professional mindset. As she rose from her desk, remembering to grab her notepad and pen, Terry didn't spare a second thought to leaving her weapon behind. Alverez had several priors for domestic assaults. Everything in his file pointed toward sexism. She would not aggravate him with any hints of superiority, including carrying a gun. '_If I do this right, it'll be over soon_,' Terry thought as she pushed her chair in. '_And then it's dinner, bed and a phone call to Don. I hope he's all right._' Then she took a deep breath and walked toward the interrogation room, ready for one last game of cat-and-mouse.


	3. Chapter 2

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: This is where things start getting 'fun' and quite possibly, very confusing. I would say that paying attention to the location and time of each section of this, and all future, chapters is advisable. I can't say when the next chapter of this will be posted; it's being polished, but I'm a student and education always has to come first for me. (Plus, I got a nasty virus a few days ago that basically made it impossible to think, much less write coherently.) As for my other story, _Secrets in the Sun_, its plotline is being very stubborn with me at the moment. I hope to get it sorted out soon. Thank you for your patience and reviews; now please, enjoy.

* * *

14562 Madison Road  
Los Angeles, California  
(1:33 PM, Local Time) 

With quiet swiftness, the FBI team surrounded the residential building. The neighbors had all either been evacuated from the area or warned to stay behind locked doors until the fugitive was in custody. Don took up his position on one side of the front entrance. On the other side of the doorway, David stood with his weapon cocked and ready for the 'go' signal. The bright sun and stifling heat foretold a sultry summer afternoon; already beads of perspiration were running down the faces of several agents. Don checked his weapon one last time, listening to the tense radio commands broadcasted over his earpiece as he did so. In a few seconds, everyone would be in position to move in and arrest Eric Warren, wanted for the thirty-five violent bank robberies across three states.

There had been a persistent feeling of foreboding ever since he had left the office; a gut feeling that something would go wrong. It was a reasonable uneasiness, Don had told himself, Warren was considered armed and dangerous; it was unlikely that he would surrender peacefully. So during the pre-arrest briefing, he had made sure that everyone under his command was fully aware of the situation and prepared for anything that might happen. He himself had checked and double-checked his weapon and vest, fully intending to join his brother and father for dinner that night. But now was not the time for distractions. He calmed his breathing and put away his feelings, narrowing his focus to the task at hand. Hearing confirmation from the agents covering the back of the home, he met David's eyes and received a nod in return.

"On my count," said Don quietly, "one… two…three!" A dull thud as the door gave way, "FBI!"

* * *

FBI Field Office  
Los Angeles, California  
(2:40 PM, Local Time) 

Don sighed as he collapsed into his chair, giving the stack of pristine forms on his desk a look containing a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Around him, the office was emptying of agents. Warren was booked into custody, awaiting extradition to Washington; Warren's girlfriend was currently facing charges for aiding and abetting a fugitive as well as assaulting federal agents; everyone of his team was safely going home to their families; it was Friday and…well, he had a stack of paperwork to do before he could leave. '_Joy…_' He got up to get himself a cup of coffee, nearly running into David who was on his way out.

"Have a good weekend, Don," the young agent said, his suit jacket draped over his arm.

"You too," he replied. "See you Monday." David chuckled at that statement which would most likely be proven false in the next twenty-four hours and waved as he turned the corner. Shaking his head at the other man's slight cynicism, Don continued on his way to the break room.

Steaming coffee cup in hand, he was greeted by the low warbling of his desktop phone when he returned to his desk. With a forced calm, Don carefully put his coffee mug on his desk where he wouldn't accidentally knock it over or be tempted to throw it in frustration. He glared at the ringing device as he sat down, daring it to bring him news of yet another case. He didn't want to consider the logistics required of him to call his team back into the office after he told them they could have the rest of the day off…not to mention their possible irritation. The phone continued to ring and he sighed. Experience had long ago taught him that ignoring bad news didn't make it go away. He picked up the receiver, reminding himself to not sound as frayed or exhausted as he felt.

"Eppes," he answered with his normal vigor.

"Donnie, it's—" a familiar voice began.

"Hi Dad," Don's mood brightened slightly. "What's up?"

"Nothing," the elder Eppes replied, "I was just wondering if you can make it to dinner tonight. I'm making spaghetti." Don smiled, "I'll try Dad. I can't promise anything though."

"You're not working on a case, are you?" Worry and disappointment seeped slightly into Alan's voice.

"When am I not?" asked Don with a short laugh. "No, Dad. I've just got some paperwork to finish up. It might take me a while."

"Yeah, well, drop by if you can. We'd like to see you more than once a week."

"I know," said Don, turning his attention to his stack of paperwork. "Look, it's Friday, so I'm sure Merrick won't mind if I let a few forms slide till Monday. I'll come around, say, six?"

"All right," his father replied, sounding pleased. "We'll see you then. You'll call if anything comes up?"

"Yep."

"Bye, Donnie."

"Bye Dad." Don hung up the phone with a sigh and turned his attention to the topmost folder. Flipping it open, he grabbed a pen and began filling in the blank boxes. '_Keith Matthews' case, Matthews, K.…Where did I put those case notes?_'

* * *

Office of Dr. Charles Eppes,  
California Institute of Science  
Los Angeles, California  
(3:26 PM, Local Time) 

"Charlie?" Amita knocked on his open office door. He wasn't in sight, but chances were he was at his blackboards and those were out of sight around the corner. She stepped into the office, calling his name again, knowing the chances of his hearing her the first time were slim.

"Charlie?" No sooner then his name leave her lips did he appear in front of her. Startled, Amita took a step back. "Char-Charlie," she smiled, "you scared me." He smiled back at her sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said in apology. "I didn't mean to."

"That's okay. Ready to go?"

"Yep," he replied, patting his full shoulder bag. "You?"

"Yes," she adjusted the strap of her heavy knapsack, stuffed full of ungraded papers as well as one of her final drafts. "Ready."

They chatted idly about their classes as they walked toward the parking lot. Amita was teaching a few undergraduate classes as part of her graduate degree requirements and it was an experience that Charlie was eager to share with her. He, in turn, kept her informed about the latest project that he was working on — if he was allowed to talk about it — as well as who was available as a possible graduate adviser in the Physics department. When she started her car, with Charlie in the passenger seat, there was no question about their destination.

It was a long standing arrangement between the two of them: he would invite her over to his home for the afternoon and while he reviewed her latest thesis draft, she would help him grade his undergraduate classes' papers. Most of the time, it ended up that the two of them would share the workload equally and then Mr. Eppes would invite her to stay after for dinner. She would shyly accept the invitation and immerse herself in the Eppes' family life. Amita always took care to return to her shared apartment before nine so that her roommate Rina could truthfully vouch for her whereabouts at night if anyone (such as the university's ethics board) cared to inquire, plus it was just safer to be behind locked doors after the sunset.

Amita had long harbored suspicions that the patriarch of the Eppes family was up to something, especially since she usually wound up sitting right next to Charlie at every meal she partook at his house. But in a way, she was grateful for Mr. Eppes' matchmaking efforts; it allowed her to get to know Charlie better without raising red flags at the university. After all, who in their right mind would be carrying on a romantic relationship right under their parent's supervision?

Then again, as Larry was really quite too fond of saying within her hearing: "Affairs of the heart tend to throw common sense out the window."

* * *

FBI Interrogation Room #4  
Quantico, Virginia  
(6:43 PM, Local Time) 

Terry looked down at her notes, her face as still as a statue's blank gaze, as she waited for Kirsch to escort Alverez out of the room. The man had been arrogant and aggressive. He had actively leered at her while making all sorts of double entendres, and worst of all, she had to submit to them in order to get a feel for his mentality. It made her feel contaminated and nauseous. '_A long, hot shower would be great._' From the man's behavior, Terry would not be surprised if Jasmine's investigation also uncovered human trafficking. She heard the jingle of handcuffs before a startled cry warned her of danger.

"Lake!" Her head shot up and her training kicked in, assessing the situation in a heartbeat. She ducked, her knees making painful contact with the floor. The gun went off. Somehow, Alverez had managed to get his hands on Kirsch's weapon.

'_Get the gun_,' her training urged. _"Promise me you'll be careful,"_ Don's voice echoed softly through her mind. '_I will_,' she reaffirmed as she joined Kirsch in his struggle to disarm their half-shackled prisoner. Kirsch grunted as he took the facial punch meant for her. Her knuckles stung from dealing a right-hand hook. Alverez had the look of a cornered predator in his eyes — he didn't have anything to lose and that made him dangerous. She fought harder, twisting his hand, desperate to keep the gun's barrel pointed away from her and Kirsch. Her partner jerked his head and she nodded. Together, they heaved Alverez toward the wall, giving them a better chance of handcuffing him.

A gasp of surprise escaped from her lips when she was thrown to the floor, her head aching from sudden contact with concrete. She tried to get up, to breathe properly, but her body refused to obey. White-hot agony stabbed her chest and she couldn't take a lungful of air. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the room, the deafening shot still ringing in her ears.

"Lake!" Kirsch's voice had a note of panic now as his service weapon fell to the floor. Alverez slumped against the wall, stunned by a blow to the head. He was cuffed securely now. Her breathing was becoming erratic. Air wouldn't come.

Someone was lifting her up. A soundless scream of pain bubbled up in her throat at the movement. Voices, frantic and loud, ordering, shouting… pleading? Noise was overwhelming her as the room began to spin. Jasmine was kneeling by her side, her voice calm, but panic in her eyes. Terry felt pressure on her chest and struggled against the agony; she couldn't breathe. Someone else was asking her to calm down, that she was bleeding.

'_Oh God, this is bad. Please, I don't want to die_,' she begged silently. '_I don't want to die._' Her iron-control over her emotions eroded with every labored breath she took. Tears clouded her vision. It was her nightmare coming true. A cold hand gently wiped them away while two voices pleaded gently with her to stay with them. '_I can't do this to Don. I never told him. I should have told him. I can't break my promise to him. I can't…._' Terry's eyes drifted closed, gray warmth enveloping her in its painless embrace that soon gave way to utter darkness.

* * *

"What the—?" Lisa's head wiped around. '_I could have sworn that was a gunshot. But there's no reason for anyone to open fire; not in the office and most certainly not in the interrogation — oh God._' Her mind recalled seeing Terry entering the interrogation room unarmed. She had glanced through the file on Alverez before she had handed it over to the senior agent. '_If he's got a gun…_' She watched as others shook off their feelings of shock quickly and move toward the sound. A second shot tore through the air, followed by a cry for aid. 

"Someone call Benson right now!" Jasmine bellowed as she shoved the interrogation room door open. Lisa didn't think; she just grabbed her jacket and ran to help.

* * *

"William, get him—" ordered Jasmine as she entered the room. Procedure was going to be the only thing to get her team through this hellish nightmare. They couldn't afford to panic or collapse, to be human. The life of their colleague depended on them not doing that. She knelt down next to Terry, her eyes quickly assessing the extent of her friend's injuries. The FBI had to keep it together so no big shot defense attorney could say later on that they were traumatized and had abused Alverez or used 'excessive force' to subdue him. '_Though I don't think any of us would mind using Alverez for a nice punching bag…_' 

"Already done," Kirsch answered, hauling a dazed Alverez to his feet and shoving him out of the door. He left his service weapon on the floor. They all knew that later on, when Terry was on her way to receiving the best medical attention Quantico had to offer its agents — '_or dead…_' a part of Jasmine's traitorous mind whispered; she immediately fired back, '_Terry's too strong-willed to die. She won't die._' — another FBI team would seal off the interrogation room as a crime scene. '_Because that bastard's going to go down for this,_' Jasmine swore to herself. She heard someone holler from outside that the paramedics were on their way.

"What's the ETA?" she heard someone yell back. It was disorienting to realize a second later that it was her voice. She was sinking to serious shock.

"Three minutes at worst," was the answer. '_Hang on Terry, for God's sake, hang on…_'

* * *

Blood. There was so much of it. It was soaking the makeshift bandages. Its copper smell robbed the room of air. Jasmine's stomach rolled. She looked across Terry's body at Lisa. The young agent had run into the room and immediately applied pressure on the bleeding wound. Right now, Lisa's face was pale, but her hands were steady and her voice was calm as she kept up a stream of gentle reassurances and cajoling Terry to remain conscious. Jasmine followed the younger woman's lead. 

"Terry," Jasmine tried to steady her shaking voice, "Terry, please, you've got to hang in there. The paramedics are coming." Blood was pooling everywhere. Terry's eyes were glazing over and her breaths were getting shallow. '_Not a good sign._' She pushed down even harder on the cloth bandage. Lisa glanced at the older agent, fear in her eyes. '_Damn it, where the hell are those paramedics?_'

* * *

"Agent Lake," said Lisa gently, her voice betraying none of her terror, "you're going to be okay, but you've got to stay with us." Terry was murmuring something under her breath as a tear rolled down her cheek. Lisa reached out and gently wiped it away. Her hand left a crimson streak on Terry's face. The young agent blanched, but didn't move from her spot. Instead, she swallowed hard and cooed softly, "Just hang in there…come on, stay awake for us now…" 


	4. Chapter 3

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: It's amazing sometimes that teachers have no concept of 'free time' during the school year. That being said, I promise the next chapter of this story will be extra-long to make up for the long waits. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.

* * *

FBI Field Office,  
Quantico, Virginia  
(6:48 PM, Local Time)

Jasmine stood, watching the paramedics wheel their patient with all speed toward the elevators, her heart pounding painfully with fear. Lisa remained where she was when the paramedics had burst into the interrogation room. She was still kneeling at the edge of a pool of blood — Terry's blood. Jasmine didn't have to look down to know that both of their hands were stained crimson. She couldn't think about it, or deal with the rising tide of self-recriminations in her mind. Mechanically, she looked around the room. The table and chairs had been disarranged in the desperate struggle. Terry's notepad had ended up shoved into a corner of the room. Kirsch's service weapon had fallen to the ground near one of the walls. There were two blood pools: a small one that had been created when the paramedics had tossed aside Lisa's bloody jacket and the other, larger—

Jasmine choked slightly. It took her a second to realize that someone was standing right next to her, taking her elbow in a gentle grip. In the next heartbeat, she realized _who_ was standing beside her. '_My boss_.'

"Jasmine?" asked FBI Special Agent Carl Robbins gently. She ignored the silver-haired man's concern.

"Henderson," Jasmine was glad her voice barely shook now; her emotions swung between controlled and panicked, "are you all right?" Lisa didn't appear to have heard the question because Jasmine didn't see the flippant expression that usually greeted such an idiotic inquiry on her protégé's face. Instead, Lisa seemed dazed and her breathing was too slow and harsh to be normal. '_No, none of us are 'all right' until we know Terry's going to be okay._'

"Lisa?" she raised her voice slightly as she had been taught to do when dealing with shocked witnesses and used the other woman's personal name. That caught Lisa's attention. The younger woman's eyes glistened slightly and that, or Jasmine's voice, jerked her back into harsh reality.

"I'm fine," Lisa spat out tonelessly. She rose from her position, her hands clasped together to keep the still-wet blood from dripping on the floor. "I'm going to go clean myself up, if anyone comes looking for me." With that, she walked out of the room, her face a mask of uncomprehending shock.

"Jasmine, you need to—"

"Of course," she unthinkingly interrupted her supervisor, her voice sharp. He let go of her arm, though his hand hovered in the air. "I'll clean up and get the paperwork done."

"No, get yourself cleaned up," said Carl gently. He touched her elbow cautiously. "Then I'll have someone drive you to Benson after you've given your statement, all right? I'll handle things here."

That snapped her briefly out of her trance as reality hit and her breathing became ragged. Carl guided her around the blood pools and toward the restrooms. "I'll have someone find her next-of-kin information for you. You'll want to make the phone call?" Carl had been her mentor eight years ago and he knew her well. This case had just turned highly personal for all of them, and Jasmine, for one, would spare another the difficult job of contacting Terry's family.

"Thank you," she whispered before she turned away from him. Entering the women's washroom alone, Jasmine found Lisa, wrists resting against the rim of the sink, shoulders hunched and head bowed, trying in vain to hide her violent sobbing. The older woman's first thought was to comfort the young agent until she remembered that her hands were encrusted with drying blood. She turned the warm water on and thrust her hands under its force.

It was surprising how quickly they became clean, but the sickening feeling remained and her hands trembled as she dried them off. By the time she turned around, Lisa's sobs had slowed into the occasional gasp for breath, but it was clear that her hysteria was just barely below the surface.

"I think —" Between her naturally soft voice and the onset of shock, the young woman's words were barely audible. "I think I need to go home. Is that all right?"

"Of course," Jasmine said quietly, gently guiding the other woman out of the restroom. They almost ran into a man waiting right outside the door. Jasmine glanced at his identification badge; he was from Lisa's former team, one that was based on another floor in the same building.

"Lisa," the man's voice was soothing as he took her elbow, "I've already called Jonathan. He's on his way. I'll take you downstairs, okay?" Lisa nodded silently. Wordlessly, the man guided her toward the door. Jasmine spared a second to watch them walk away before going to her desk.

It took a minute of sorting, but she found what she was looking for. She pulled the completed forms out of the organized piles of paper. '_Good thing I finished these during lunch — but never for this…_' Grabbing a pen, she quickly added a final signature and a date.

"Jasmine?" Carl was standing by her desk, watching her with a worried expression. She stood up and held out the forms.

"These are papers for the immediate transfer of Carlos Alverez to the federal penitentiary," she said firmly. "I want him out of my sight." Carl nodded as he accepted them.

"I understand. I've already sent the rest of your team home. I'll handle the raid tonight and we'll deal paperwork when we can. Jasmine, given the nature of this case and the fact that it won't take long before the cartel finds out what Alverez has done, I'm going to assign a guard to Agent Lake. So when she gets out of surgery, I'll need you to call me so I can set things up at the hospital, all right?"

She nodded, thankful that he was optimistic and clearheaded. He took her shoulder, "I'm going to walk you downstairs. There's a car waiting for you. As soon as I've got her next-of-kin information, I'll send them to you, okay?"

"Thanks. What about my statement?"

"I'll take that as we go, all right?"

"All right," she answered, grabbing her coat, grateful that Carl knew how quickly she wanted to get to the hospital.

* * *

Residence of Charles and Alan Eppes  
Los Angeles, California  
(3:58 PM, Local Time)

"So how did your meeting go with the Dean today?" Charlie asked as they got out of her car. Amita shut her car door, slipping her keys into her pocket, her other hand carrying her satchel. "He said that he can arrange with the INS to extend my student visa if I can get the registration in on time."

"That sounds easy." Amita couldn't stop the irritated sigh from escaping. '_Don't I wish._' Instead of replying immediately to Charlie's remark, she smiled in greeting at the gardener in the front yard, "Hi, Mr. Eppes."

"Amita," the patriarch of the Eppes family sat back on his knees, "nice to see you again. I trust my son won't bore you too much?"

She laughed, "No, Mr. Eppes. We've got papers to grade."

"Ah, yes. Of course, papers." He gave Charlie a look Amita couldn't quite decipher. "Then I won't keep you."

"Hi Dad," said Charlie as he escorted her up the walkway and front steps.

"Dinner's going to be spaghetti," was the distracted reply as Alan returned his attention to the untended flower bed. Charlie nodded, not looking at his father as he opened the door to the entryway. Amita just shrugged mentally to herself; this was the typical near-telepathic connection between a parent and child. She shared that trait with her father, who almost always seemed to know what she was thinking. He was the one who had been the most supportive in her family about her dream of coming to California to finish her education.

When she had returned home last summer to visit, her father had given her a questioning look when she suggested the prospect of her earning a degree in astrophysics before she returned permanently to India. But he never asked if it was because she was in love with someone else, though Amita noticed that she didn't meet with her 'fiancé' as often as she used to on previous visits. He was a nice enough man, but there was no spark, no chemistry between them. To her, he was just another boring banker and Amita sensed that he saw her as another independent-minded woman who needed to be gently controlled. She knew that she would never be happy in that kind of relationship.

On the other hand, Charlie saw her intellect first and then her beauty. It was a good thing because he was her thesis adviser and she wanted to earn her degree through her intelligence, not her looks. He was a great teacher who had a passionate enthusiasm for his work that was infectious. The only drawback was that it was proving rather difficult to get Charlie to notice that she was flirting with him. At times, Amita was almost sure he flirted back, but their timing always seemed to be off. People walked in or something interrupted them right before that critical moment. '_Well,_' she thought with a quiet sigh as she walked up the stairs behind Charlie, '_as soon as I finish defending my thesis, advisor-advisee rules won't apply anymore and maybe I can get an answer. That is, if my visa doesn't expire first._'

* * *

"So you won't have any problems?" prompted Charlie again once they were settled in his room. He opened the ring binder containing her latest thesis draft.

"Plenty apparently," Amita sighed, "the admissions office computers crashed this morning and they don't know what went wrong or when they can get it fixed, so now I can't enroll in the right classes and then there was some mix-up in the student files before that _idiot_—"

"I heard." She nodded, only half-surprised that he knew. Charlie was known for being selectively deaf at times. But he wasn't physically deaf or so mentally absorbed all the time as to _not_ hear the fire engines roaring onto campus. "I couldn't get my Calculus 101 class to settle after lunch," he said in explanation. Amita sighed, quelling her much-abused temper.

"I'm just relieved he didn't burn the whole building down or destroy all of the 'R' paper files. If I'm lucky, my file's just soggy, not ashes and my student visa won't expire before I can get everything turned in."

"You know, the chances that a single lit cigarette can burn down a structure are actually—"

"Charlie, please, it's been a long day; I don't want to hear it." He closed his mouth and nodded, "Sorry."

"It's okay." She sighed again and reached for her stack of papers, "Let's just get this done and over with." He nodded and followed her lead, gradually sinking into his inner world of mathematics as he read through her argument.

* * *

"What's this?" he said, breaking the silence. Amita looked up from Gregory Packer's paper, one of her more promising students, to see Charlie holding up a sealed envelope addressed to her. She vaguely recalled the possibility of her blindly shoving her mail into her bag as she left her shared apartment that morning. All thought of checking for bills or official notices had left her mind once she had gotten on campus…until now.

"Where'd you find this?" she asked, reaching for it. He pointed at her thesis draft as he handed it to her, "In here. It's from the INS."

"Oh no," she muttered as she quickly opened the envelope, glancing at the official seal of the office of immigration. '_With the way my luck's been going today, this better not be a notice that my visa's going to expire._' Bracing herself for disappointment, she read the letter and blinked. '_No. This can't be right…_' Amita re-read the black text and laughed with relief. '_I'm eligible! I'm finally eligible!_'

"What?" Charlie was smiling, bemusedly sharing in her elation. She restrained the urge to hug him, settling for a shout of mixed joy and relief instead.

"I'm eligible for a green card now," she said happily, carefully folding the precious letter and putting it back into its envelope, placing the valuable document in her backpack.

"That's — that's fantastic. Wow. I — that means you can stay, right?" And when she saw the expression on his face, she knew what he wasn't saying. '_He _wants_ me to stay._' She nodded, saying softly, "Yes."

Amita and Charlie smiled at each other, silent understanding coursing through the room. All too soon, however, the moment passed, and Charlie quickly looked back down at her thesis, his hands automatically smoothing the already smooth surface—a sure sign of nervousness. Feeling her cheeks flush too, Amita followed his example and returned her attention to Gregory's paper. '_Time enough now; time enough for anything that might happen between us. I can stay for as long as I need to. Thank you Vishnu!_'

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(6:53 PM, Local Time)

"GSW to the upper chest —" "Page Meeker and the OR —" "— five units of O-neg —" "Did the FBI send over her medical —" "— respirations erratic —" "Let's move it people, we need —" "— pulse thready—" "—heavy blood loss." The noise was what pulled her back into the waking world, where pain was still possible. Terry groaned quietly, her ears assaulted by the sounds of the chaotic emergency room.

"Agent Lake?" a man's soft voice caught her attention in the cacophony surrounding her. She easily heard him over the commands of the doctors and nurses in the room. '_That's odd. He must be nearly whispering._' "Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can." His hand was pleasantly warm when he took her right hand. She tried her best, but she felt so tired. She didn't open her eyes. A part of her knew that it was a bad sign. "Okay, that's good," his voice was calming, "You're going to be all right, Ms. Lake. We're going to take good care of you…" His hand fell away from hers and the loss of human contact made her feel a degree of panic.

"Lift on three: one, two, three!" A jostle of movement sent a stab of agony through her, knocking Terry back into the numbing darkness.


	5. Chapter 4

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: As I promised, the next chapter… with some fluff, but not for the couple you might be expecting. Thank you all for your patience.

* * *

Fleurs Des Joie  
Los Angeles, California  
(4:37 PM, Local Time)

David was grateful that Don had given the team the rest of the afternoon off. He really needed to spend some time with his fiancée, if not for romance, then at least for comfort. They hadn't seen each other for nearly a week due to his hectic caseload and he missed her presence. Besides, he discovered the carton of chocolate ice cream tucked behind the massive frozen chicken in his freezer. She was up to something and he was more than happy to oblige her in her teasing. '_It'll help me relax, that's for sure…_' His shoulder still ached slightly from the flying vase thrown in his direction. '_Thank goodness Don insisted that I wear all my protective gear. Otherwise, Diana might strangle me for getting hurt._'

While Warren's arrest had gone off without a hitch, there had been a tense moment when the agents all though the fugitive was armed. But it turned out the object in the man's hand was just a harmless flashlight that he promptly dropped, to everyone's considerable relief. The fugitive's girlfriend, on the other hand, had put up quite a fight before she was subdued. A few agents, including David, received a few bruises in their endeavor to cuff her, but she had been overpowered in the end.

After finishing up a few stray pieces of paperwork, David had gone back to his apartment to change into casual dress before deciding to surprise his wife-to-be and show up at her office to take her home. It was, after all, Friday and the end of a very long work week for him. He deserved to have some time off before he was called into the office again. Tucking his sunglasses into his pocket, David walked into the flower shop where the clerk greeted him by name and a knowing grin.

"Hi Mr. Sinclair," he said, "the usual?"

"Yep," replied David.

"Do you need a card?"

"Nope, this is just a surprise."

"Ladies always like surprises," the clerk remarked as he cut a strand of lavender ribbon to bundle around the flower stems. '_Actually, __Warren__'s girlfriend didn't seem too happy with our surprise._' But David wisely kept that thought to himself as he paid for the flowers. He returned to his parked car, a small bouquet of lilies cradled in the crook of his left arm. After carefully securing the delicate bundle, he hummed a cheerful tune as he navigated afternoon traffic on his way to her office.

He counted himself lucky in many ways: to have a loving, supportive family despite the distance between them; to have a beautiful, smart fiancée who loved and understood him; to have a satisfying job that allowed him to make a difference; to have two mentors who looked out for him and taught him so much. Speaking about Don and Terry… David didn't count himself a profiler — he had never received the same degree of training that Terry had in psychology — but he had noticed the growing sparks between his two teachers. '_I wonder how long it's going to take until Don actually confesses that he's interested in Terry. He has been pretty quiet lately. Hopefully Terry can cheer him up when she calls him tonight._' David had long ago figured out the arrangement between the two senior agents. It had amused him somewhat, but he wisely stayed silent. There was no need to inform Merrick of the situation. It was their personal business and neither of them allowed it to affect their work. Plus, David tended to avoid the AD when he could.

When David was first assigned to Don's team by the Assistant Director, the senior agent and his partner had been understandably suspicious of his presence. David found himself as a clueless chess piece in the middle of an intra-office political match between Don and AD Merrick. The young agent had gone home that night and spent a more than a few minutes contemplating whether banging his head against the wall a few times was a good idea or not after Merrick practically announced to the whole office that David was his 'pet.' He took to avoiding both senior agents after that incident.

But things changed drastically between him and Don in the heart-stopping conclusion of the L.A. rapist case. David didn't see how anyone could put their life in someone else's hands and not having any degree of trust between them as a result of that. He did, and Don had come through without hesitation. After that, Don's behavior towards him had thawed considerably. Terry, too, had helped him out countless times, both professionally and personally. She had accompanied him to his first jumper, and then silently handed him a cup of water after he threw up in the trash can outside the morgue. When he was trying to work up the nerve to ask Diana to marry him, Terry had laughed softly at his anxiety before telling him he would do fine…as long as he didn't panic. She never hesitated to share her experience with him and always allowed him to tag along in interrogations when he could. She could be teasing him mercilessly one minute and completely professional the next, teaching him that it sometimes helped to have two personalities to deal with what he saw every day. '_I hope she's okay. She sounded rather stressed in her last email. God knows that Don hasn't been completely calm since she left. When he threw Reed up against the fence… I'll always stay on his good side. I hope I didn't worry Terry too much with my email. I should've taken more time, been more coherent, but then again, she'd understand that making sure Dr. Fisher was safe was my priority._'

David pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. He picked up the flowers, checked his appearance in the rearview mirror and stepped out of the car. As he shut the door behind him and pocketed his keys, David smiled at the thought of spending the night with the woman he loved. '_A quiet romantic dinner, a full night's sleep…Life is perfect right now._'

* * *

Residence of Charles and Alan Eppes  
Los Angeles, California  
(4:46 PM, Local Time)

Alan enjoyed gardening; it brought him peace of mind, and in a way, closer to Margaret. She had loved to garden, and enjoyed having fresh cut, home-grown flowers by her bedside every morning. Even in those last few months, when she was slipping away from her family, she had still smiled when he brought her flowers. Alan took a deep breath, easing the knot of grief in his chest. '_I still miss you so much, Maggie._' He carefully extracted a weed from the fertile soil. '_I've met a few interesting women. You know about Susan. I mean, she's nice and all, but something's just not there. I keep reminding myself that she's not you._' He gently caressed a blossoming violet, carrying on his mental conversation. '_It's hard, Maggie._' Then he heard the memory of her comforting voice say softly, '_I know, but I'm always with you. I love you Alan Benjamin Eppes._' It was one of the last few things she said before she passed on.

'_I know I'll probably never meet someone I'll love the same way I love you. We stuck together, Maggie. I don't think I'll ever know how we did it, but we did. You should be next to me right now, teasing me, spending our time together…._' He sighed. '_Don and Charlie are doing pretty good. I know they're both still hurting inside, but they hide it well. I still can't understand Charlie sometimes, but I'm getting better at it, like you said I would. And Don…he's grown up so fast…sometimes I'm not sure when I turned around and he wasn't ten years old anymore. They're both men now… and giving me more gray hairs than I care to count. Ever since Charlie started consulting on Don's cases… well, you know what a basket case I am until both of our boys come home. Of course, you would wish we'd have grandkids running around._' Alan chuckled. '_I still think they're in the picture. What do you think Maggie?_'

'_You've seen the way Don's been behaving since Terry left for __Quantico__. Those secretive phone calls that he keeps getting whenever he's here that leave him with a calmer air afterwards. Okay, I'm not going to deny it; I _was_ exercising a father's right to snoop when I answered his cell phone two weeks ago. How was I supposed to know it was Terry on the other end of the line?_' Alan could see his wife's amused skeptical look in his mind's eye, the one she gave him when she knew he was being evasive.

'_All right, yes I was hoping it was her, but you know him. Of course, he _was_ looking rather flustered when I gave him his phone…. Then he denied all romantic involvement with her. Heh. He can deny it all he wants, but you don't forget an old flame easily…especially if it their first date is his favorite. And Terry, well, she didn't say anything either way, but that look on her face during that dinner…yes, I know, that night was a disaster, but at least Jill didn't throw anything at me. As for Charlie, he's got Amita… I think you would like her. She understands Charlie, both when he's off on one of his thoughts and when he's himself. Though he needs a little work on his social skills, I can tell you that. Leaving the poor girl in the car in the middle of the afternoon for nearly an hour!_' He mentally shook his head. '_I wonder when either of our boys will realize they've got two women helplessly in love with them?_'

Alan hummed quietly under his breath as he worked, enjoying the rich scent of soil and the warm afternoon sunshine. After he was done, he would get started on dinner and call Don again to remind him about dinner. '_Sometimes he works too hard. I'll invite Amita, as usual. Charlie has got to wake up to reality sooner or later. And then when Terry gets back, maybe I can persuade Don to invite her over…. Hmm…another double date? Eh…_'

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(7:47 PM, Local Time)

Jasmine had paced anxiously for several minutes in the hospital's ER waiting room before she could find an available orderly who knew about Terry. The male nurse had then asked her to wait five more excruciatingly long minutes before he found the attending physician. Around her, the victims of a three-way pile up caused by a drunk driver were treated, each attended to by a retinue of medical professionals. The harried doctor had arrived, taken one look at her and asked her to follow him into the treatment rooms. She froze, her heart pounding in her throat. She had never lost an agent under her command before. '_No, please, Terry has to be… what have I done?_'

The good doctor, realizing what he had done to a traumatized woman, quickly reassured her that he was just taking her somewhere private to talk. "Agent Lake is up in the OR right now," he had said, guiding Jasmine through the chaotic halls, crammed full of patients and empty gurneys.

"She's lost a lot of blood, Agent Lewis." Dr. Stephens, the emergency room attending, had sat her down in an empty treatment room and closed the door before he turned to face her. "I can't tell you if the bullet punctured a lung or nicked an artery or worse. There's no telling how it will go, but… it doesn't look good. But I know how stubborn the Bureau chooses them." He had given her a tight smile, "Meeker's the best we got and he'll do his best to save her." He paused, unsure of what to say, before finally settling on, "I'm sorry." Jasmine had nodded slowly, not knowing what to say in reply. What answer could there be? "Would you like me to take you up to the OR waiting room?" he had asked, a hand hovering near her elbow to help her stand.

"No," Jasmine had brought all of her training to bear on herself as she stood up, "I can find my own way, thank you." He had nodded and dropped his hand, "It's on the second floor."

She nodded again, looking down at her hands, guilt swallowing her. She had followed him out of the quiet treatment room and made her way upstairs, ignoring the bedlam around her.

She had claimed a corner of the quiet OR waiting room. There were two other families there: both had family members involved in the collision that would snarl traffic for the rest of the night. They kept to themselves, as if sensing that Jasmine didn't want to talk. Slowly, she tried to mend her mangled composure and ignore the passage of time.

* * *

Heads turned when a nurse appeared in the doorway. A woman let out a sob as the R.N. entered the room, but she walked past the two anxious families. Instead, she approached Jasmine's corner of the room, "Agent Lewis?"

"Yes?" Jasmine stood, hopeful for good news, but her heart sank when she saw the thin folder the attendant was holding. The nurse gave it to her, "This came for you."

"Thank you. Is there any news?"

"I'm sorry," the nurse replied, shaking her head. Jasmine waited until the R.N. had left the room before opening the file. Inside was a single sheet of paper, a photocopy of Terry's emergency information, with a Post-It note from Carl attached to it. '_Supervisor: Walt Merrick (213)-555-4673. There's a 3 hour time difference. Stay as long as you need to. I'll handle things. –Carl' Jasmine_ swallowed before she looked at the copied information. Terry's neat handwriting had filled in under Emergency Contact/Next-of-Kin: '_Don Eppes, FBI Special Agent, (213)-555-3475_'

She closed her eyes briefly. '_How am I going to call a fellow colleague and tell him his partner is lying on an operating room table fighting for her life because of mistakes that I made? Why the hell didn't I order that Alverez be restrained more securely? Why didn't I ask someone to help William? I knew that he had to be tired, escorting prisoners all afternoon. I knew that Alverez was tough. I saw how he struggled when he was arrested; why the hell did I think he would be docile? Why didn't I convince Terry to carry her weapon? I should have seen how tired everyone was. Why did I have to push ahead?_' A remote part of her pointed out that she had no way of knowing what would happen, that what happened to Terry was no one's fault — other than Alverez's. Everyone was tired and that was a mistake, but they were pressed for time and they all had willingly taken the risk of having something go wrong. '_No one could have known our gamble would go so wrong._'

But the majority of her felt responsible for what had happened. Terry had come onto the case at her request, was handling the interviews solo at her request, was in that interrogation room pushing that final interview at her request. '_How could I let this happen?_' Jasmine slammed her emotional door shut in her mind. She had to control her guilt before she called. She glanced at the time. It was nearly eight o'clock. '_Was it really just two hours ago that Terry was drinking coffee with me out on the terrace, talking like it was the end of just another long week?_' It seemed to have taken place in another lifetime.

She took out her cell phone and dialed the phone number of A.D. Walt Merrick. Considering he was both Terry and Don's supervisor, he would have to be informed of the situation first.

"Merrick," a man answered after the second ring. There was an edge of impatience to his voice. He was probably just leaving his office, in a hurry to get home, when Jasmine called him.

"Director Merrick, I'm Jasmine Lewis from Quantico."

"Yes?"

"One of your agents from the Los Angeles field office, Agent Lake, has been severely injured. She was, is, part of a case that the Bureau's running in Virginia." Jasmine managed to keep her voice calm and emotionless. There was a tense silence on the other end of the line.

"I see." Merrick sighed softly. "What are her chances?"

"She's still in surgery." Jasmine took a deep breath, "The doctors don't think it looks good."

"Who's her next-of-kin?"

"Her partner, Don Eppes," she replied. '_I wonder why she'd put her partner as her next-of-kin, not her family? I know she's not an orphan. She did mention something about a brother a few days ago._'

"Do I need to tell him in person?"

"I hope it won't come to that, sir." Jasmine fought to push down her incontrollable and all-too rational fear. "I'm going to be calling him to deliver the news."

"He'll want to fly out, I expect." She heard his chair creak and papers rustling. "Tell him I can give him emergency leave, paid, over the weekend and, if nothing comes up, until Tuesday."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, keep me posted, will you?"

"Yes, sir. Goodbye."

"Thank you for calling Agent Lewis. Goodbye." She hung up and sighed. That had gone well on her part. But that was the easier of the two phone calls she had to make. She hesitated slightly, gathering her emotional strength, before she dialed Don Eppes' number.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. It was five o'clock in L.A. Maybe he had left the office already, though Jasmine doubted it. Terry had mentioned that both of them were workaholics who often stayed late to finish paperwork.

"Eppes," a man's voice answered, a soothing one with a slightly rough edge to it —perhaps due to a lack of sleep, something that plagued LEOs at every level.

"Don Eppes?" she asked to be sure. Jasmine didn't want to deliver the news to the wrong person or do it twice. She wasn't certain that her emotional barriers— even with her experience —would hold up under such strain.

"Yes," he sounded slightly suspicious, "Who is this?"

"I'm Jasmine Lewis," she said. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. I'm calling from Quantico." She took a steadying breath. "It's about Agent Lake. She was injured quite seriously tonight. I have been asked to contact her next-of-kin."

She heard him make an indistinct sound. "I'm very sorry that this has happened. But I assure you that the man who did this to her is under arrest." She couldn't bring herself to tell him that it happened while Alverez was in custody. '_Damn it, Terry should have been safe in that room!_'

"I'm not her…" Eppes began, sounding distant.

"Yes?" she prompted gently, trying to reach through the shock that was undoubtedly settling in. When he didn't answer, she tried again, "Agent Eppes, are you still there?"

"Yes," he replied, his voice shaking slightly. A second later, he asked in a calm, steady voice — a professional veteran's, one that was used to being shaken to the core while having to stay collected at the same time, "What happened?"

Her mental barriers shattered at that simple question. Images from the shooting assaulted her already battered mind: the look of horror on Kirsch's face, Terry falling back from the struggle, and blood, so much blood…. "I…" She couldn't find her ability to speak. She had to tell him, but she also needed time to process what had happened, to accept the past and uncertain future; and Terry… Terry needed the person she had specified as her family to be by her side when she came out of surgery. '_When, not if, when,_' Jasmine thought fiercely.

"I don't think this would be best discussed over the phone," she said, finding her voice. "She was taken into surgery about an hour ago. The doctors…" She couldn't bring herself to repeat Dr. Stephens' grim prediction. He needed hope; not morbid details. Unwilling to lie to him, Jasmine settled for vagueness and hope. '_Terry has to pull through._' "I think it might be best if you come see her."

"I understand," he said heavily, obviously reading her voice for what she had withheld from him. She moved quickly to another topic, hoping to distract him from his fears, if only briefly.

"I've already called Agent Merrick and he's agreed to give you emergency leave until next Tuesday. Would you like me to book a morning flight for you?" It would keep her busy and force her mind to stop dwelling on the fact that she was in a hospital waiting room.

"Thank you," Eppes replied. "Could you just call me on my cell with the information?"

"Of course." He gave her his phone number and hung up. Jasmine leaned back in her seat for a moment until her hands stopped shaking so badly before she put a call through to the Bureau's travel department.

* * *

Residence of Charles and Alan Eppes  
Los Angeles, California  
(6:30 PM, Local Time)

'_This girl has clearly _not_ been paying attention in class…_' Amita added yet another red notation to the already heavily-marked paper. She glanced over at her undeniably attractive grading companion, who was deep in thought as he graded another student's homework. She allowed herself a moment to just watch him as he sat in the sunlight, scribbling a remark in the margin of the paper, and a small satisfied smile crept across her lips.

"Charlie!" Alan's strident call caused both mathematic specialists to pause in their work and look toward the doorway. Charlie scrambled to his feet, his expression puzzled as he expertly avoided the papers temporarily strewn on the floor. She returned her attention to the much-abused paper. "Charlie!" Alan called again, this time a note of urgency in his voice. Getting the feeling that something wasn't right, Amita followed Charlie out of the room.

She heard Charlie ask, "What, Dad? Hi Don." Her steps quickened when she heard the worry in her thesis advisor's voice, "Hey Don, are you all right?" She knew then that something was very wrong. In all the years that she had known the Eppes family, Don was always the one who acted strong for his family's sake. For Charlie to become so openly concerned…

"Mr. Eppes, what's wrong?" she asked as soon as she reached the top of the stairwell. It was a clear indication of Alan's anxiety that he ignored her question, focusing his attention on his younger son. Amita's attention was riveted on Don. Even though he was clearly trying to hide it, he was in shock.

"Charlie, could you get one of the suitcases from the closet and pack it for Don? You know where he keeps his change of clothes."

"Sure," Charlie's gaze darted between his father and his brother, trying to figure out what was wrong. "What's going on?"

"Terry's hurt," said Don quietly. '_Merciful Vishnu protect her!_' Feeling sudden vertigo, Amita reached out and steadied herself on Charlie's shoulder.

"Oh…" Charlie was pale and shaking ever so slightly under her touch, "What —"

"I don't know, Charlie," Don looked on the verge of tears. '_Terry apparently means a lot more to him than a partner. She means a lot to all of us._' Alan gave Charlie a look, the same one that Amita often received from her grandmother when she wanted something done immediately. She gently tugged Charlie back up the stairs before he lapsed into his coping mechanism: numbers. '_Don does not need to hear any statistics right now. And I swear, if Charlie starts working on P. vs NP, I'll stop him somehow._'

"Hey," she said quietly, getting his attention, "how about you tell me where the suitcases are and you go get Don's clothes?"

"In there," he said, pointing at one of the closed doors in the hallway. "Um, I'll take that." He took a stack of graded papers from her hand. She watched him as he turned around and disappeared into the guest room.

* * *

When she finished packing Don's carry-on bag, Amita sighed and went to get her belongings. '_After news like this, Don probably wants some privacy._' Charlie was nowhere to be seen. '_He probably went downstairs after I shooed him out of the room. You'd think he would know how to pack a suitcase…_' She quickly gathered her papers and thesis draft and made her way to the stairs.

"You boys want to help me cook dinner?" Alan was asking his sons when he saw her. "Amita, how about you stay for dinner? It won't be a problem to set another place at the table." She quickly shook her head, glancing briefly at Don's distraught expression, "No, I shouldn't intrude right now, especially with Terry…" The words stuck in her throat and she had to try again, "It's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Eppes, but I don't think tonight's a good night."

"It's all right, Amita," said Don suddenly, his voice tired. "You wouldn't be intruding if you stayed." She followed the agent's gaze and understood when she saw Charlie's brooding expression. Don needed for her to stay, to help Charlie cope with the news, to take over the role of 'Big Brother' for him. She looked at Alan who also was silently pleading for her to help him. '_How can I say no? Well, I don't._'

She nodded, saying carefully, "All right. Do you need me to help with dinner?"

"Sure," Alan replied quickly, relieved that he would have aid. He led the way into the kitchen where he quickly set her to chopping some parsley. Amita tried, and failed, to distract Charlie from thinking too much. Discussion about Charlie's current crop of students fell flat as well as any talk about family plans for the summer. Alan tried to draw Don into talk about baseball but received so sharp glare in return that he just dropped the subject.

* * *

Dinner was served and eaten in near silence; everyone too absorbed in their own fears and thoughts to even pretend that everything was all right. As Charlie and she cleared the dinner table, Amita saw the fear flickering in his eyes. He had never talked with her about his mother's passing, but she had heard from Larry about how Charlie couldn't bring himself to Margaret Eppes' bedside as she passed away. It had only been about a year since the funeral. '_To lose someone else so soon…or even risk it…_' Amita's throat constricted in sympathy.

"Hey, Charlie," she said quietly once the dishes were neatly stacked on the kitchen countertop, waiting for Alan and Don to wash them. "Do you want to play chess again?"

He smiled weakly, "No. Besides, I beat you last time."

"So?" she smiled back, forcing a teasing tone into her voice, "I've been practicing with Larry."

"All right…" he sighed, going to get the chess set from its storage box. Alan gave her a grateful look before he vanished into the kitchen.

* * *

Apartment of Diana Johnson and David Sinclair  
Los Angeles, California  
(7:50 PM, Local Time)

"I have an idea for dessert…" whispered a silky feminine voice in his ear. David smiled as he finished drying the last dishes. He wiped his hands and threw the dishrag on the countertop as he turned around.

"And what would that be?" he asked, a mischievous grin on his face. His fiancée, Diana, laughed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his body.

"I think you have a very good idea of what I'm thinking," she teased.

"Chocolate ice cream?" he guessed hopefully. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Now I know why I love you," she declared. "Chocolate ice cream it is." She paused, and then said, "Honey, you're going to need to let go of me if you want me to get the ice cream."

"In a little bit," he murmured, dropping his head and planting kisses up her neck.

"Honey…" she moaned breathlessly. David's cell phone rang, interrupting the romantic atmosphere. Diana sighed as David pulled away from her, an apologetic look on his face. She smiled understandingly in reply and leaned against the kitchen countertop, her knees still a little weak, as he went into the living room to find his suit jacket. Today he had left the office early enough to show up at her office and take her home. They had caught up on the week's events as they made dinner together. She had hoped to have him all to herself tonight, but it looked like his work called again.

"Sinclair," he said briskly, walking back into the kitchen, his cell phone held to his ear. He grinned, "Hey, Malcolm, how have you been?" He paused, listening to his former Academy classmate's reply. "No, no, L.A.'s been great," he said, glancing at Diana with a smile. She blushed. Then his happy expression vanished and his tone became professional, "Yeah, she's a friend." Whatever Malcolm said caused David to abruptly sit down on the kitchen stool. "Are — are you sure?" asked David in a completely flat voice. Diana, sensing that something had drastically gone wrong, stepped closer to her fiancé and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Did he tell you how bad it is?" David thrust his free hand into his pant pocket, an anxious habit of his. "Okay…No, I'll take it. I've been — I know where he'll be. How long do you think before everything's ready?" He paused, listening to the answer. "Thanks, Malcolm." He nodded, "We all will be. Bye." David shut his phone with a snap and sighed heavily.

"What happened?" she inquired gently. He didn't seem to hear her question.

"God, this is going to crush Don." He looked up at the ceiling tiles, as if waiting for an answer to drop at his feet.

"What?" Diana was lost. '_What does David's boss have to do with anything?_' He sighed and looked at her solemnly, "Remember what I've been telling you about Don and Terry?"

"Oh," she nodded, "you think they're finally getting together."

"Yeah," he looked at the cell phone in his hand before saying flatly, "She was shot tonight." Diana gasped, "Do you — I mean, do you know if she's all right? She's not…is she?" To her relief, David shook his head.

"She's alive, but… Malcolm says that it's bad." He looked up at Diana, "She might not make it." His eyes were glistening and she hugged him. She knew how much his mentors meant to him. Terry had spent a lot of time teaching David about FBI life and the two agents were good friends. To even contemplate such a loss was beyond her. '_If you marry him, this is what you might have to face,_' a part of her mind whispered. '_I'll face this and worse,_' she staunchly replied, '_but I am marrying him. I love him. And I won't let my fears rule my heart or life._' Diana hugged him tighter to her, listening to his breathing, feeling his arms around her neck, inhaling his scent, imprinting the feeling of him on her soul. '_I thank God every night when you come home to me._'

"It's gonna to be okay," she whispered in his ear. '_It has to be._'

"I'm… I'm going to get to the office, pick up the travel documents for Don." David rose from his seat and she let go of him, straightening. "I'll — I'll be back later, okay?"

"Drive carefully, all right?" she asked in reply, following him into the hallway in concern. David nodded sharply, "Yeah." He picked up his keys, "Don't wait up for me." '_In your dreams,_' Diana answered silently, watching the door shut behind him. '_Dear Lord, please don't take __Terry__Lake__ from us tonight…_'


	6. Chapter 5

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: My deepest apologies for my late update. I know I promised to have the story done soon, but real life has demanded my constant attention for the past month.

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(11:20 PM, Local Time)

While she waited for the arrangements to be made, Jasmine bowed her head and caught sight of her bloodstained cuffs. Bile rose in her throat, strangling her breathing. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to throw up. '_Oh God, please, let her live. Please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I screwed up, Terry. Please. Please God, don't… don't let her die…_' she begged silently before she began to pray, her lips moving in silent recitation of childhood prayers, fighting tears of worry. Time lost its meaning for her as she murmured ancient supplications for heavenly intervention, uttered centuries-old pleas for her to not hear, not tonight, the dreaded words from a solemn-faced doctor, quietly spoken, as if it could soften the news: "We did everything we could. I'm sorry."

"Theresa Lake?" a nurse called as she stood in the waiting room's doorway, jolting the agent from her guilt-filled reverie. Jasmine stood up quickly and forced herself to walk calmly to the doorway.

"Next-of-kin?" the nurse asked, glancing briefly at the chart she held in her hands. Jasmine shook her head, "I'm a colleague of hers. Her family lives out-of-state."

"I see," the nurse glanced down again at her clipboard, "Well, she's out of surgery and Dr. Meeker will be out soon to talk to you about her condition."

"Where is she headed?"

"ICU, I'm afraid. The doctor will be able to tell you more." Jasmine sighed with relief. Terry had made it through the surgery alive. '_That has to be good news right?_' She glanced at the clock. It was past eleven now. '_Four hours…_' Jasmine bit her lip. '_How bad was it?_'

"If you'll follow me…." The nurse led the way out of the public waiting room to a private room. After indicating that Jasmine should take a seat, the nurse left her there. Jasmine couldn't sit down. She paced in a large restless circle while she waited for the surgeon.

Dr. Howard Meeker was one of the best medical professionals that Benson Memorial had to offer to the FBI. While Jasmine had never met him in person before now, she knew of him by reputation. He had saved the lives of many agents, though he wasn't always able to save their careers. But being forced into retirement was far more preferable to dying in the line of duty.

"Agent Lewis?"

"Yes?" She faced the speaker immediately. '_He's a surgeon?_' was her first thought. The chestnut-haired man was tall with wide shoulders. He had a slightly hawk-eyed look — one that no doubt sent first-year interns scurrying to obey his orders — but there was also genteelness in his expression. A charisma surrounded him, a sense of wisdom and experience that demanded respect. His bearing was former military, but he moved with surprising grace as he walked into the room.

"Howard Meeker," he shook her hand. "I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances."

"How is she?"

"Critical," he answered somberly, "Her condition right now is surprisingly excellent, all things considered. The bullet nicked an artery, but we were able to repair it. We nearly lost her twice, but she pulled through. She's stable for the time being. Whoever applied pressure — Perhaps we'd better sit down." He guided a suddenly-faint Jasmine to a seat and sat down next to her. "Agent Lake has two broken ribs, one fractured. I've also been told she might have suffered a concussion. I didn't see any swelling that would concern me, but I'll wait a little while before we determine if further tests for head injuries are necessary. But beyond that… she's a very lucky young woman. A millimeter, in any direction…" He shook his head, "We'd be having a very different conversation right now."

"Thank you," said Jasmine shakily as a shudder of relief went through her.

"I don't want to alarm you," he said gently. "Certainly the fact she's stayed with us so far is a favorable sign, but the next forty-eight hours are the most crucial. The blood loss has weakened her considerably and with a possible concussion… I hope she'll regain consciousness soon. When she does, then we'll know for certain that she's out of the woods. Until then, hope for the best."

"All right," she said softly. "How long do you expect her to remain unconscious for?"

"The anesthesia we've given her should wear off in a few hours. Most likely, she'll be lucid by late morning tomorrow, though every person differs. If there are no complications, Agent Lake should be ready for any questioning you have for her by tomorrow afternoon." Jasmine nodded. He reached into the pant pocket of his scrubs.

"Here's the information you need for your incident report." He handed her a folded piece of paper, which she tucked into her purse. She couldn't look at it. Not now.

"Can I see her?"

"Briefly," he replied as they both stood up. He walked with her down the eerily silent corridors. They were nearly at the marked entrance to the ICU when Jasmine remembered her supervisor's instructions.

"Dr. Meeker, Agent Lake was injured during the course of a case. I'd like to post a guard in the ICU and then outside her door for her safety."

"I understand," he replied, shooting her a briefly questioning look. Both of them knew he wouldn't receive a clear answer and that he wasn't expecting one either. "As long as they're quiet and don't interfere with her care, I won't bar their presence."

"Thank you." With that, he pushed the door open, and motioned for her to go in first.

* * *

Eppes family residence  
Los Angeles, California  
(8:30 PM Local Time)

The chess match proceeded predictably, with Charlie's black pieces overrunning the board and her meager defenses. However, Amita promptly forgot her impending doom when Don's cell phone rang. Both players ditched the game to hurry to the kitchen doorway, praying fervently for good news. There wasn't much to be gathered from Don's short, clipped replies, but by the time he hung up, he seemed less tense than he was before.

"How is she?" asked Charlie. Don smiled weakly at the two of them, "She's in the ICU now. The doctors think she has a good chance. I'm flying out tomorrow at 6:30." Amita sighed quietly in relief, but she noticed the worry in Don's eyes. More likely than not, she knew, he was shielding them, giving Charlie only the good news, and none of the bad.

Alan wiped his hands and said briskly, "Then you'll need to get some sleep." Don just nodded in reply. '_He does look tired. Emotional roller coasters do that to people_,' she thought and checked the time, '_Eight-thirty. Rina will start worrying._' Knowing it was time to leave, Amita said reluctantly, "My roommate will freak out if I don't get home soon." Charlie nodded absentmindedly, while her words had no affect on Don. '_He's got more important things on his mind than a panicking, near-paranoid housemate to worry about._' Picking up her satchel from its position next to her chair, Amita looked at Alan apologetically, "Thank you for dinner Mr. Eppes." '_Sorry I can't stay longer to help you._'

"Thank you for staying," he replied, his expression telling her that she had nothing to apologize for. She nodded slightly in understanding before she turned to Charlie. '_Help him maintain a degree of normalcy, so even though you really want to, don't hug him…he doesn't need to be thrown into more confusion and emotional chaos than he already is in.' _So she forced herself to say gently to her thesis advisor, "Charlie, I'll see you tomorrow." Amita searched for the right words as she turned to Don. '_What do you say to someone who knows more about the situation than you do?_'

"Don…she's going to be okay." Amita offered that assurance for all of them. '_Terry, you have to be fine. Please._' He nodded before he looked away. Alan hovered near his eldest son's elbow, ready to escort him to bed. '_What hasn't he told us?_' she wondered as she allowed Charlie to walk her to her car.

Standing there in the driveway, Amita felt the gloom that was radiating off of him as she unlocked her car door. She turned to look at Charlie. Away from his father's scrutinizing eyes, the young professor allowed his emotional shields to drop and she saw the full force of his worry and unresolved fears in his eyes. '_I can't leave him like this._'

"Charlie," she told him firmly, "Terry's going to be okay. You have to believe that."

"I know what ICU stands for," he snapped back. She didn't take the tone personally; he was upset and when he was, sometimes he just lashed out without thinking.

"And both of us know it's not a death sentence," replied Amita sternly. "She's going to beat the odds."

"I just…" Charlie's hands were shaking. Amita longed to take them in her own and steady them, but she refrained from physical contact. "I don't know what Don's going to do if Terry—" He choked on the words.

"She's not going to die," she said desperately, trying to convince him and herself of that. "You don't need to think about—"

"I can't help what I'm thinking about!" he said heatedly. "Do you think if I could—" Then he sighed and continued in a quieter voice, "I don't want Don to lose her. He—" Amita gave into her impulse and put a hand on his arm. He looked down at the pavement.

"You're not going to lose Don or Terry," she declared softly. '_And you're not going to lose me._' He stood still for a moment, pondering what she had said, before he nodded and looked back up at her.

"Thanks," he said quietly. Sensing that he was no longer in a mood to talk, she nodded and let her hand drop to her side.

"Goodnight, Charlie," she said, getting into her car.

"Goodnight Amita," he answered, shutting her door for her. She nodded at him as she turned on the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. '_I hope we get more good news soon…._' Amita sighed, her thoughts turning toward the other side of the nation. '_Terry, please be okay. You mean so much to all of us…._'

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(11:35 PM, Local Time)

Jasmine walked out of the hospital into the cool summer night, the refreshing breeze hitting her face like a splash of cold water, reminding her of her duties. She first put in a call to the cab company before she sat down on the curb. '_Terry's a fighter. She's going to beat the odds. She's going to be fine._' When she had walked into the ICU… '_If it wasn't for the heart monitor, I would have thought…She was so pale…_' With those thoughts, Jasmine's emotional barriers collapsed.

It was a while before the night air ceased to echo with her quiet sobs. She wiped her face and cleaned up the best she could before she pulled out her cell phone again. Jasmine made the necessary phone calls: one to Carl to tell him that Terry was out of surgery, one to the travel department to confirm the flight and lodging arrangements, and finally she called Don Eppes.

"Eppes." His voice was tense, braced for the worst. She thought she heard silverware tinkling in the background. '_He's married? Maybe he's Terry's brother-in-law or something? Though that has to be a very odd coincidence if he is, a relative _and_ a partner.'_

"Agent Lake's out of surgery and in the ICU right now. The surgeon was cautiously optimistic. The next forty-eight hours are the most crucial." She didn't think he needed to know how close his partner came to dying. "Your flight leaves tomorrow at 6:30 am on Continental Airline. One of your agents, David Sinclair, has already volunteered to deliver the ticket and boarding pass to your home once they're ready."

"Thank you," he sighed. She could hear the relief in his voice.

"You're welcome," she replied before she went over the travel arrangements with him. The conversation was short and by the end of it, she was glad that his tone was lighter than before. The cab pulled up to the curb. She got in and hesitated when the driver asked for her destination. '_If I go back to work, Carl will throw me out of the office._' But she did not want to return home either. Her Navy husband was gone on deployment, leaving their shared apartment empty and uninviting. She needed human companionship at the moment. Jasmine even briefly considered the possibility of going to a bar or an all-night diner. But in the end, she gave the driver her home address. She needed the comfort of familiar, serene surroundings, but she knew she would not get any sleep. Not tonight.

_

* * *

The interrogation had gone well, at least as well as could be expected. Watching from the observation room, Jasmine was satisfied by the slight progress Terry had made in convincing the man to talk. She half-turned away from the one-way glass to return to her desk, but she stopped. There wasn't anything wrong, but Jasmine's instincts were on edge for no particular reason. Terry's head was lowered as she finished up her notes. William Kirsch had moved into position behind Alverez, one hand reaching back for his handcuffs, the other hand pressing firmly down on the prisoner's shoulder. When he had his handcuffs in hand, Kirsch ordered sternly, "Stand up."_

_Watching how Alverez meekly obeyed the command, Jasmine frowned slightly. It was a good thing that the career criminal was complying with authority, but there was something off about the whole thing. The next second, everything went to hell._

_Three rapid gunshots._

_Terry's body knocked limply back in the chair by the force of bullet, blood seeping down the front of her chest._

_William's lanky form crumpled on the ground, two bullets causing an impossibly large blood pool to form around him._

_Voices surrounded her, accusing, condemning, echoing impossibly loud. "You killed them. You killed them." Terry's voice rose above the others._

"_Why?" she demanded, her tone harsh. Her body rose from the chair, taking drunken steps toward a frozen Jasmine. "You were supposed to keep me safe. I trusted you. Look what happened. You killed me, Jasmine. You killed me."_

"No!" Jasmine fell forward off of her couch and her body collided painfully with the living room coffee table. She stayed sprawled on the ground for several minutes, her bones protesting the impact against the wooden table, her breaths coming in frantic gasps, the nightmare's terror still paralyzing her mind and body. "Oh God, no, no, no…" She curled up into a ball on the cold wooden floor, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. Eventually, she cried herself back to sleep.


	7. Chapter 6

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: My double-treat for your patience! The next chapter will be up before the New Year. I _swear_.

* * *

James Carter Regional  
Quantico, Virginia  
(1:00 PM, Local Time)

Having avoided being trampled by the harried, constantly-moving crowds of passengers in the terminal, Jasmine waited silently as the plane carrying Terry's next-of-kin landed at the busy airport. As disembarkation began, she ignored the happy reunions of families that took place around her. Instead, she searched for a man who radiated authority, competence and responsibility in the swarm of passengers. She found one such person, with a carry-on bag slung over his shoulder and a worried expression on his face. The dark-haired man did not look like he had slept well at all and anxiety hung over him like a dark cloud.

"Don Eppes?" she asked, moving to stand next to him. Despite his exhausted features, he was well-dressed in a suit and looked barely rumpled by his early morning flight, a mark of a seasoned agent.

"Jasmine Lewis?" he asked in reply after studying her for a millisecond. She nodded before saying, "I'm sorry that we're meeting under these circumstances." He accepted her offered hand. '_And he's not wearing a wedding ring either… then again, he might be engaged or he just doesn't because of the job. I don't._' Greetings done with, Jasmine gestured toward the airport exit. Eppes' strides had purpose to them, but were restrained, as if he was aware that she had to take more steps to keep up with him.

"You'll be glad to hear that Agent Lake was moved into Recovery this morning," she said as they walked toward the airport exit. Carl had called her earlier with the good news, waking her from an exhausted sleep. He had also told her that he wasn't expecting her in until late morning, knowing that she would want to pick Terry's designated kin up at the airport. Carl did not remark about the hoarseness in her voice when she had answered the phone, but Jasmine knew that she would face some concerned questions from her boss as soon as she got into work. She willed herself to ignore the stiffness in her bones from spending the night on a cold, unforgiving floor as she moved through the crowds.

"That's good," Eppes said. His voice was too calm to be normal. His body language radiated tension, even though his walk, to the untrained observer, was just a relaxed stroll. Though he was unknowingly on the lookout for trouble, his brown eyes were weary of the strain. A young man wearing a windbreaker, carrying a bulky duffle bag in the crowded terminal caught their attention. As their eyes tracked the man back to his family and dismissed the civilian as a threat, Eppes asked, "Is there anything else?" as if he knew that Jasmine was holding back on him. '_He must be a terror to suspects in interrogation._'

"Even though she is out of the ICU," Jasmine didn't want to increase his stress, but she didn't want to lie, "her condition is still critical, but stable." She glanced at him, checking his reaction. He seemed to be handling the news stoically. "Things can still go either way." He nodded, perhaps unable to find his voice.

* * *

Neither of them said much as she drove him to Benson Memorial. He spent most of the drive looking out the window. She didn't mind. '_What can you say to a man who entrusted the safety and well-being of his partner to you when you've screwed up?_' She parked her car and led him to the fifth floor of the hospital, going directly to the nurses' station for information.

"We're here to see Theresa Lake," she said calmly, masking the nerves she still felt every time she asked for Terry's name.

"And you would be?" the nurse asked cautiously, looking between the two people standing in front of her. Jasmine was glad for the wariness. Dr. Meeker must have told the nurses about the special circumstances surrounding one of their patients and urged them to take precautions about her security.

"Agents Jasmine Lewis and Don Eppes, FBI," she replied calmly, pulling out her badge. After a second, he did the same. The nurse took a good long look at the identifications and nodded, "She's in room 306, down the hall, on your right. There's a guard outside her door. Dr. Meeker just checked on her. There's been no change in her condition."

"Thank you," said Jasmine as she put away her identification. She walked with him in silence down the corridor. She could feel the stress and fear seeping out from him, even though he tried to conceal it. Their footsteps tapped softly against the linoleum floor. Higgins was on duty outside of Terry's door, reading a book. He stood up at their approach, protectively blocking the entrance to her room, his hand already moving slightly back toward his service weapon. She knew he was just warning Eppes and showing her that he was armed, prepared for anything that happen. While it was unlikely that the cartel would attack Terry or attempt to finish what Alverez had nearly done, the mere existence of that possibility warranted a round-the-clock guard on her.

"He's with me," said Jasmine, "Agent Lake's listed next-of-kin." Higgins nodded, lowering his guard, and sat back down in his chair. "I'll be out here," she told Eppes gently. It didn't take a psychology degree to know that he wanted to be alone when he first saw Terry. He took a deep breath before he went in and Jasmine swallowed hard as she waited outside. She exchanged a worried look with Higgins.

'_I probably should go to the office_,' she sighed. '_I can't let Carl handle everything._' Still, she waited about five minutes before she went into Terry's hospital room, giving Eppes time to master himself. He had sunk into the chair by his partner's bedside, his hand wrapped around hers. At first, Jasmine thought he didn't hear her enter the room, but he turned his head slightly toward the doorway. She hoped that he wouldn't ask questions; she wasn't sure she could answer them. He didn't say anything. Instead, he remained silent as Jasmine informed him that she had to return to the office and told him that if he needed anything, all he had to do was ask Higgins to contact her. Eppes simply nodded and returned to his vigil. Jasmine took one last look at Terry, still unconscious, before she walked out of the room.

* * *

FBI Field Office  
Quantico, Virginia  
(4:00 PM, Local Time)

Lisa looked down at the pristine report form in front of her. She had been in shootings before where agents had gone down, but she had never been directly involved. Other agents or paramedics had stepped in with medical aid and comfort. She hadn't had to sit there for four agonizingly long minutes, praying desperately for help that didn't seem to come fast enough. She didn't know how many prayers she had run through while waiting for the paramedics to arrive.

Lisa was no stranger to blood. Childhood nosebleeds followed by a career in the Bureau meant she wasn't afraid of it. It made her nauseous sometimes, but she rarely threw up at crime scenes because of it. She wasn't sure if that was something she should be proud of. But if she closed her eyes, even now, just sitting at her desk, she could still smell the acrid copper scent, feel it running like water through her fingers. Lisa dry-gagged and forced herself to clear her mind of negative thoughts, trying to reach a state of detachment. It didn't work.

Last night, after the shock had completely worn off, she had spent hours kneeling on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom, her husband holding her hair back from her face while she threw up. He had tried to assure her that Terry would be all right, that Benson had some of the best doctors in the nation, that she had done all the right things. But both of them knew that he could make no promises about Terry's chances and the amount of blood she lost could determine her survival. And despite all of his medical training and soothing, there was nothing he could do about the memories in Lisa's mind; all he could do was cradle her as she cried.

When the sun had risen, she had insisted on going to work. Despite his grave misgivings, he let her. She had entered the office to find her coworkers subdued; most kept glancing anxiously at Jasmine's and Terry's empty desks. Someone whispered to her that Terry had made it through the surgery last night and that her next-of-kin was arriving today. Lisa wondered how Terry's relatives felt, how they had learned the news. '_Was it a personal visit by a Bureau agent? Or was it just a simple call that turned the world upside down?_' But one thought kept running through the young agent's mind: '_It could be me next time. And I might not be lucky._' She knew the risks of her job, the perils of her chosen career, but it never ceased to shock her every time someone she knew was hurt.

Lisa had completed her paperwork on a previous case before Markey tracked her down. She barely managed to give a statement about last night's events without losing her composure. With an apologetic look, he had handed her a form to fill out, an internal incident report. It was required for every prisoner-involved incident to prevent allegations of mistreatment against the Bureau. She had looked at it blankly before setting it aside to deal with later, when things weren't so painfully clear, when she was ready to face what happened the night before with professional detachment.

Hours later now, she sat at her desk, staring sightlessly at the black-inked words, making no move to do anything else, utterly unable to pick up her ballpoint pen and start writing.

Now was 'later' and she still wasn't ready.


	8. Chapter 7

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: While I have tried to do some research, I haven't a clue if Yongsan Area is actually located within the city of Seoul or if the Marine Corps helps the South Korean military guard the demilitarized zone. On a more personal note: Happy New Year!

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(6:30 PM, Local Time)

Another day of work done, Jasmine hurried to the hospital. Despite regular phone updates, no one in the office was satisfied or fooled by the bland 'Agent Lake is doing as well as can be expected' that the nurses hoped would soothe their concern. Everyone had seen for themselves the grim faces of the paramedics as they had hurried out of the building, the dry blood pools visible through the interrogation room window if anyone cared to look, and the neon yellow crime scene tape that sealed off the doorway. They knew how serious it was.

But life in the office continued as usual. It had to. The post-raid interrogations went ahead as scheduled, but they were conducted under heavy security with three agents escorting prisoners and a guard in the room at all times. Both veteran and rookie agents were jumpy and hyper-vigilant. It might take weeks or months before the office would return to its relaxed, though professional, atmosphere; or it might just simply take the close of this particular case for everyone to release a sigh of relief and get things back to normal.

After she had gotten into work, Jasmine had spent a few minutes with Lisa, hoping to gauge the younger agent's state of mind. What she found didn't surprise her. While Lisa was able to perform her duties competently, the young woman was still severely shaken. Jasmine made a mental note to confine the other woman to the office until Lisa regained her equilibrium. But that reminder was soon forgotten in her mental chaos.

Her mind was scattered at the moment, pulled this way and that by so many issues, all demanding equal attention. Despite the disorienting events of the previous twenty-four hours, there were two raids planned for that night in coordination with the Virginia State Patrol as well as various local agencies. And while Carl had generously offered to lead the raids (well, if she was honest with herself, he had firmly told her that she was in no condition mentally to lead the operations and she had silently agreed), she was still in charge of making sure that everything, paper-wise, would run smoothly. Thank goodness that whatever hell broke loose in the actual execution of the planned raids would be Carl's problem, not hers.

She was slightly concerned that Eppes had not once called her. Higgins, after he came off guard shift, had told her that the man had spent most of his time wordlessly sitting next to Terry's side. '_Only God knows what he's going through, waiting for her to wake up._'

When Jasmine arrived at the hospital, she looked at Linton, asking him a silent question. He shook his head. '_No change_.' She nodded and turned to walk into Terry's private room, nearly running into the nurse who was coming out. Jasmine checked the bedside monitors. '_She looks better, color in her face, a steady heartbeat… Terry, why aren't you waking up?_'

"Agent Eppes?" she called quietly.

"Please," he said quietly, turning around in his seat without rising or relinquishing the tight grip he had on Terry's hand, "Don." She smiled back tightly before offering him the same familiarity, "Then please, Jasmine." Her smile disappeared. '_I have to tell him. I've put it off for too long already. He deserves an explanation._' "Visiting hours are almost over," she said, "and I still owe you an explanation for what happened. How about we get you checked into the hotel and talk this over dinner?"

"Thank you," he said, accepting her offer. He looked back at Terry as he stood up slowly, studying her, reassuring himself that it was all right to leave her bedside. He let go of her hand reluctantly. Jasmine could see the flash of anger in his eyes. He wanted to know who did this to his partner and Jasmine needed to come up with a satisfactory answer to that. '_I don't know if I can…._'

"All right," he said, signaling his readiness to leave. She waited for him to pick up his suit jacket from the back of his chair before she led the way out of the hospital.

* * *

Southern Oasis  
Quantico, Virginia  
(7:30 PM, Local Time)

The two of them ended up in the back booth of her favorite restaurant, sipping coffee while they waited for their dinner. She had been silent while she drove him to the hotel and helped him check in, trying to gather and organize her thoughts. He patiently waited for her to speak. '_He seems to have all the patience in the world._' When Jasmine was sure she had all of her emotions under control, she took a sip of her coffee, sighed and began.

"About two months ago, the agent in charge of leading the profiling classes at the Academy took an emergency personal leave of absence. A family member was in the hospital and he needed to be there for his family. Various agents filled in for him while the search for a temporary replacement went on. As you know, we eventually offered the position to Agent Lake. She agreed to lead seminars on profiling and forensic psychology for one month while we searched for a permanent replacement.

"At the same time, we were in the midst of a large investigation," she said, silently adding, '_We still are_.' "I can't go into details here, but we were preparing to make a bust when she arrived. Knowing that profiling was her area of expertise, we approached her for help in conducting a few interrogations for us. She agreed." '_Why did she have to agree? I know she came **because** of the investigation, but I wish she hadn't come, but then again… She would have come anyway… and… If this had to happen to someone, Terry wouldn't let anyone take her place…She would not change a thing, just like if I was in her position, I wouldn't let someone take my place… I just…Why did any of this have to happen?'_

"Last night, when one of the suspects was being removed to lock-up, he managed to grab another agent's gun." '_Kirsch, how could I have forgotten him? Carl put him on leave. He's so shaken. I hope he's handling this all right…. This isn't his fault. And I should…I wish I could tell him for sure that Terry's going to be okay. The brass better not chew him out for my mistakes. He's a good man and a good agent; this was my mistake._' "There was a struggle between the three of them for control." Jasmine looked down at her coffee mug, unable to look Don in the eye as a wave of guilt washed over her. She could barely make herself heard as she forced the next words out. "She was shot at close range in the chest."

"And the suspect?" he asked, sounding surprisingly composed. She quietly cleared her throat before she tried to answer, "He was subdued. As I've said before, he will be tried for assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder, and I have no doubt he will be convicted." '_Because I know the team won't rest until he's behind bars. And no righteous citizen is going to acquit him once they see that tape._' She sighed mentally to herself. '_I'll have to call the D.A.'s office on Monday. See if they've decided yet on charges…what am I thinking? Of course, Dunne will file. It'll be personal to him. It's personal to all of us._'

"I see," said Don, his emotional control slipping slightly. She could see the anger and pain in his eyes. '_How could I allow this to happen under my supervision, put Terry and Don through this?_ _And how could that scum of the Earth think he could—_' She stopped herself. Unless she wanted to go through a breakdown in public, she couldn't afford to continue that train of thought.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, closing the conversation between the two of them as she saw the waitress approach. He just nodded. Jasmine looked down at her plate; food wasn't truly on her mind, but she ate anyway, knowing that it had been hours since she had eaten. The silence that reigned for the rest of the meal wasn't oppressive or guilt-leaden. Instead, it was reflective and uneasy, precisely what she was feeling herself. After dinner, she drove him back to the hotel, promising to pick him up at eight the next morning. But instead of going home to an empty apartment, she went back to the office. '_Finish up on some paperwork, get things done, and maybe, maybe I can work myself to sleep._'

* * *

Quarters of Major and Mrs. William Lake  
Yongsan Area, United States Army  
Seoul, South Korea  
(6:00 PM Local Time)

"Honey, I'm home!"

"Kitchen!" his wife called back. He walked further into the house, dropping his cap on the hallway table. Major William "Bill" Lake stepped into the kitchen and, standing behind her, wrapped his arms around his wife's waist, "What's my sweetheart up to?"

"Hi Honey," said Patricia Lake as she paused in her cheese-shredding to turn around and drop a kiss on his cheek before she returned to making dinner. "How was work today? Chicken Lasagna for dinner."

"Pretty good," he replied as he divested himself of his jacket and carefully draped it over the back of a chair. Patricia had roundly scolded him once for hanging his jacket in a way that left a small crease on the cloth; he did not plan on incurring her wifely wrath more than once. "Yours?"

"Same old, same old," she replied, teasing him. "It's not flu season anymore, so it's just the usual cuts and scrapes at the clinic." She looked over at him, "By the way, a message came for you while you were out."

"Oh?" He washed his hands in the kitchen sink, rinsing off the soapsuds with luxuriously cool water. "Was it Havers?" he asked, naming one of his close friends in the service. His wife shook her head.

"No, someone named Lewis, I think. I'm not quite sure; he left a message with Staff Sergeant Parks because you were on duty. Do we know anyone named Lewis?" He searched his memory and came up blank with any familiar faces. He dried off his hands on a dishrag.

"I remember a Lewis from Basic Training," he said slowly, replacing the cloth to its usual place by the sink "But I heard he didn't reenlist after his tour. So, no, I don't think we do, at least, no one from stateside that would call us. Did he say what he wanted?"

"I don't know. The only thing Parks said was that it sounded urgent, but with the new orders…."

"Yeah, all right," he picked up the phone and dialed the number to the base's mail center.

"Mail Center," a young man answered, "PFC Jones speaking."

"This is Major Lake, I understand that someone called and left a message for me."

"Hold on a second, please, sir." There was a few seconds pause while the enlisted man searched for the information. "A Jasmine Lewis with the FBI called at 1025; she wanted to talk to you."

"Did she say why?" asked William, his voice sharp with sudden fear. His mind went instantly to the safety of his little sister. Patricia looked at him as she put the lasagna pan in the oven, her eyes questioning. For a Marine, he was a gentle soldier who rarely raised his voice without reason.

"No sir; it doesn't say."

"What's the number?" he asked, uncapping a pen and cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could write. The private first class quickly gave it to him. William recognized the area code as belonging to Quantico, Virginia, the place where both Terry and he had trained in their respective careers. For a brief second he wondered why an FBI agent stationed across the country from his little sister would be calling him. '_I don't get why a woman from Quantico_ _would be calling me when Terry's in Los Angeles. If anything happened to her, it'd be her boss Don calling. At least, that's what she said when —_' He swore softly under his breath when he remembered his last conversation with his sister. '_Damn it, she's in Virginia. She'd better be all right. If she isn't…._' He hated feeling helpless.

"Sir?" asked the startled soldier on the other end of the line. At the same time Patricia approached him with a concerned expression, "William?"

"Thank you," he said curtly and disconnected the call before the other man could say anything else. He immediately dialed the number he had scrawled on the notepad.

"William, what's wrong?"

"It's Terry."

"Oh God," Patricia might have said something else, but William didn't hear her. Instead, he listened impatiently to the ringing tone of the phone line. It seemed like forever before someone answered the phone, though it was in all likelihood two, maybe three, rings in reality.

"Lewis," a woman's voice answered with authority.

"This is Major William Lake," he forced himself to be calm. "Is this Agent Lewis?"

"Yes, you're Terry's brother." It was a statement of fact. Before he could demand news about his sister, the other woman said firmly, "Your sister will be fine. She's at Benson Memorial right now. Her condition has stabilized considerably since she was shot on Friday night."

"Friday night," he repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing. He demanded righteously, "It took you **three days** to contact me?"

"Sir?" the woman was politely confused. "I'm sorry that I didn't call sooner, but it took me a while to find your information and, while I know it's not an excuse, she was injured only last night…"

"International dateline," murmured Patricia, glancing at the clock and doing some quick math in her head. "It's about 11:00 at night on Saturday over there. You woke the poor man up!"

William didn't bother to correct his wife in her assumption about Agent Lewis' gender. Instead he asked, "What happened? And how serious is it?"

"She'll be fine," she replied after a slight pause which told Bill that she was being evasive. He bit back an expletive. He hated being cuddled by civilians.

"With all due respect, Ma'am," his voice was steel, "I've been a Marine for over a decade. I think I can handle it."

"She was shot in the chest," she said softly after a long pause, "but the doctors were able to stop the bleeding and remove the bullet. She did spend last night in the ICU, but she's in Recovery in stable condition right now."

"Shot in the —" he repeated numbly. He had seen that happen before in his years in the service. It had not been pretty. His heart skipped a beat as his mind imposed the image of his little sister's face on the body of a ghost. "Is she awake?" he choked out. '_Terry, please be okay. I need to talk to you, to hear your voice, to banish these damn ghosts back to where they belong._' Seeing her husband in obvious distress, Patricia began to rub his arm soothingly.

"No," Lewis answered softly," Not yet."

"Is she in a coma?"

"We don't think so," was the steady reply. "It may just be that she has a stronger reaction to anesthetics than most people."

"Wait," his mind backtracked for a moment, "What do you mean 'it took you a while' to find my contact information?"

"Oh… I thought you knew…" It was the first time that he realized how exhausted the woman sounded. But his inner fears and Older Brother instincts overrode common courtesy and he pressed, "Knew what?"

"I'm sorry; I'm very scattered right now, but I thought you knew. You're not Terry's designated next-of-kin." That rattled him and prompted William to ask sharply, "Who is?"

"Well, her partner."

"Partner?" '_Now who the hell could that be?_' William frowned in thought. '_She hasn't mentioned any boyfriends lately… not to me at least. But it isn't like she'd tell Angie…would she?_'

"Yes," Lewis sighed, "Don Eppes, her partner from Los Angeles."

"Oh," was all William was able to say. '_Why the hell did she designate some stranger to be her next-of-kin instead of us, her family? Don't we deserve to know firsthand if she's hurt, or God forbid, killed in the line of duty?_' However, he refrained from taking his fear-fueled anger out on the female agent. "Don't shoot the messenger" was a lesson he had learned over the years.

"I'm sorry," he ran a hand through his military haircut. "I just…"

"It's all right," she replied soothingly. "I've just given you distressing news. I've had worse. Now, I promise I will call you the moment she wakes up, if that's all right with you."

"Yes, please, Agent Lewis."

"It's not a problem. You can always reach me with this number unless I'm in the middle of something important."

"All right," he sighed. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"You're welcome. Good night, Major," she replied.

"Good night," he said and hung up. He stood staring at the phone motionlessly, his mind still trying to process the news. Patricia looked at him expectantly as she drew him to sit on the couch.

"Well?" she prompted him after they had sat in silence for a few moments. "Is Terry all right?"

"Yes, no, I—she was shot in the chest."

Patricia muttered a short prayer under breath before asking, "Is she —?"

"The woman said that she will be. She'll call me when Terry wakes up." '_And then I'll be having a long talk to her about family._'

That can't be all that's bothering you," said his wife after a moment. Leave it to her to dig deeper into his mind and motives. William sighed heavily. '_Leave it to me to marry a perceptive woman. She's not going to stop until I tell her everything._'

"I'm not her next-of-kin," he said abruptly. "A man named Don Eppes is."

"Don Eppes?" repeated Patricia with a raised eyebrow. He couldn't tell if it was in surprise to the name or his reaction. "What's wrong with that? He's Terry's partner, right?"

"Right," he answered shortly.

"So what's the problem? His name has come up several times in the past, don't you remember? All in positive terms?"

"The problem, Patricia, is that none of her _family_ is her next-of-kin."

Patricia sighed, "She trusts him, right?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly.

"They've been partners for years; so he's not a stranger to her."

"Yes…"

"He was, until recently, in the same city as her, right?"

"Yes…"

"She chose him knowing he would make the right decision for her."

"She better have."

"Have some faith in her, will you? Do you trust him to do that?"

"No."

"Is that Major Lake talking or Bill the older brother talking?" The disgruntled look her husband gave her told Patricia she wasn't going to receive a reply on that question. She switched to another line of questioning, "Would you rather your parents to hear about this from some stranger?"

"No…"

"Do you think Angie would be able to handle it?"

"Maybe," he sighed.

"But you think it's perfectly logical for you to be contacted first, despite the fact we're a twelve-hour flight from stateside, never mind Virginia," she said, her voice telling him precisely how illogical she thought he was being.

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Honey," she took his hand in hers, "we're in South Korea. If anything happened to her, you wouldn't be able to make any crucial decisions for her immediately." There were a few minutes of silence as he mulled the logic of that over.

"You're right," he finally conceded, albeit grudgingly. "I just… How in the world could this happen? She's _supposed_ to be…" His frustration robbed him of words.

"Honey, don't you think I worry about you every day? This posting is 'supposed to be safe' compared to Iraq or Afghanistan. But for all I know, tomorrow North Korea will go "To hell with the treaties" and invade. And then we both know how safe your job would be. Yes, this is supposed to be a safe place, stateside is supposed to be a safe place; but both of us know that there are no completely safe places. You're both in dangerous professions, but you both are fully aware of it. Terry isn't just your little sister anymore. She's a grown woman, more than capable of taking care of herself."

"I know," he sighed, "but I can't stop thinking of her as fourteen, watching me as I'm teaching her how to defend herself."

"I know," said Patricia quietly, patting his arm.

"I just… I just want to hear her voice again and know she's okay."

"I'm sure that Agent Eppes will make sure that she's well taken care of," she said reassuringly. "And we'll just keep on praying."

"The kids will be home soon. We'll have to tell them somehow…."

"We'll do it together, and we'll tell them that she's just hurt. Terry's a fighter; we both know that. She'll pull through. Don't doubt her."

"I know."

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(5:58 AM, Local Time)

Lisa entered the hospital with a brisk, authoritive stride. She acted like she belonged there and no one questioned her presence as she moved through the busy corridors. It was that special time in the morning, when the sun's rays were just beginning to peak over the horizon, offering breathtaking views of Nature's splendor. The clear, cloudless skies promised a beautiful Sunday that should be spent with family and friends, relaxing on a blanket cuddled next to her husband, picnicking on the grass next to a lake where the cool breeze provided relief from the comfortable warmth of the summer sun. But today was not that sort of day for her. Today, Lisa was far from relaxed.

Her footsteps were sharp on the linoleum floor and she moved without any trace of her usual grace. Her steps slowed and softened as she neared Terry's room. She nodded at Linton who had looked up sharply at her appearance.

"How is she?" she called quietly as she approached her colleague, dreading the answer.

"The same," the older agent answered, vacating the chair for Lisa. "She still hasn't woken up." He checked his watch. "Meeker will be here soon." She nodded sharply, dropping her shoulder bag next to his. She sat down.

"I think Meeker and Jasmine are getting worried," Linton confided softly, leaning against the wall. "She was supposed to wake up yesterday."

"Everyone reacts differently," she said, trying to impart hope when all she felt was suffocating dread. "She's stable, right?"

"Yeah," the older man sighed. "Thank God for that." He glanced down at his watch. "I guess I'd better go. Lindsey will want me to help out." But he didn't make any move to leave. "I'll ask the pastor to say a prayer for her today at Services."

"We all are," she replied softly. He nodded, picked up his bag and coat, and left to rejoin the world beyond white-washed corridors and the smell of disinfectants. Lisa sighed heavily and leaned down, unzipping her bag and taking out a textbook. She settled in for hours of watching and waiting. '_Terry's got to be okay. She's going to be fine. Why can't I just make myself believe that?_'

* * *

(7:00 AM, Local Time)

Lisa looked up from her book when she heard footsteps approaching, her hands automatically tightening their grip on the book. But she relaxed as she saw a doctor and nurse approached Terry's door. His name tag read 'Dr. H. Meeker' and she nodded in greeting. The man inclined his head slightly in return as he walked into Terry's room. Feeling a need to move, Lisa stood up, put her textbook on her seat, and walked to the doorway. She watched as Meeker read over her colleague's medical chart, took her vital signs and gave quiet instructions to the nurse. He gently touched Terry's arm, murmuring something to her before he turned away from the bed. Lisa quickly stepped out of the doorway. As he walked past her to continue his rounds, she impulsively said, "Doctor….," catching his attention.

But she found she didn't know to say when Dr. Meeker turned around to face her. The older man gave her a look, one that said to simply explain and not to ask. Lisa cleared her throat and tried again. "I was there," she said, her voice frail. His years of experience allowed him to understand what she couldn't bring herself to say. Meeker put a reassuring hand on her arm.

"Agent Lake will be fine," he said gently. "She's still critical, I won't deny it, but she's been stable for a long time. What happened to her was a shock to her body. Even with the transfusions, she still needs time to replenish the amount of blood she lost and start the healing process. When her body's ready, I expect she'll wake up on her own."

"And if she doesn't?" she asked, voicing her deepest fear.

"Then I order a few tests, but I doubt I'll need to. There's no swelling or heavy bruising that I can see that would cause worry. Everyone reacts differently to incidents like these."

She nodded. He could tell that his words had failed to completely convince her of a positive outcome to what she had experienced. Meeker smiled at the young woman, imparting a personal thought of his to her, "I've been a doctor here for over a decade and I'll tell you one thing: of all the agents that I've treated over the years, women like you and Agent Lake are some of the most resilient people I've ever met. You don't give up easily and you rarely back down. Agent Lake will be fine, trust me."

"I trust you," Lisa said softly, not realizing she had vocalized her thoughts.

"Good," he nodded, patting her arm gently. "I have to go." He studied her. "Do you need anything?" Lisa shook her head as she drew away from him and sat back down in her chair.

"I'll be fine now," she said with a weak smile.

"All right," replied Meeker, giving her one last concerned look before he moved on to the next patient. Lisa sighed and turned her attention to the textbook she had brought with her in relation to her latest case. It was some time later that Jasmine had arrived at the hospital with Terry's next-of-kin. After a few brief words, the man vanished into the room and Jasmine went to the office. Waiting with patience and faith, Lisa returned to keeping a quiet, watchful vigil outside her friend's door.

* * *

It was a soft persistent beeping that drew her attention from the depths of darkness and warmth curled around her left hand. It reminded Terry of when her kitten sought to be petted, nudging Terry's hand with its head repeatedly. However, this warmth was different, yet familiar. She searched through her mind, trying to pinpoint the reason for her recognition. But her mind, oddly scattered for some reason, came up with nothing. Something played at the edge of her memory. Without knowing why, Terry pushed it away. She had a feeling she didn't want to deal with it just now. '_We're going to take good care of you._' Someone had said that to her, but why?

Deciding that it would be a good time to find some answers, she opened her eyes and was greeted with an unexpected sight. Don was sitting next to her bedside, reading a stack of papers. Or trying to anyway, he was fidgeting slightly, a habit of his when he was nervous or troubled. A small part of her registered that he was holding her hand, but she was too concerned by his appearance to care. She had never seen his face look so drawn and haggard since his mother died. His eyes were bloodshot and it was clear that he was anxious.

"Don?" Her voice rasped slightly in her throat and she was surprised at how weak she sounded. '_What happened to me?_' She turned toward him, trying to articulate her questions, but failing. Don's head jerked up at the sound of her voice. He looked at her and sighed quietly in relief. Putting down his papers, he leaned forward and smiled, putting all of his usual charm into it. Like always, it never failed to cause her heart to flutter slightly.

"Hi there, Terry," he said softly. He gently brushed a strand of her hair out of her face, his fingers lingering briefly behind her ear. As the shadow of his hand fell away, she blinked in the morning sunshine. Her eyes adjusted to the lighting. The ivory-colored walls and faint smell of bleach in the air told her that she was the hospital. '_Did I push myself too far? I remember being tired. Maybe I collapsed at work? But I don't remember being that tired. Jasmine would have sent me home before that and I wouldn't have argued. Why is he so worried about me if that's the case? I mean, he wouldn't have flown all the way here if it wasn't serious…._' It took a second for her logic to catch up with her thoughts. '_Wait. I'm in Quantico. What's he doing here?_' She felt tired, but it was a heaviness that urged her to rest. It was slightly difficult for her to draw breath, as if her ribs were bound. '_Mom has asthma. But my physical should have caught that and why would it happen now? Did a raid go wrong? But Jasmine… at least, I think I was just doing interrogations for her. I wouldn't have been on a raid._' She took as deep of a breath as she dared and focused her energy on moving her lips.

"I thought you were in L.A," she said, taking care not to slur her words. She half-expected him not to answer. '_Maybe I'm slightly delusional right now._'

"I was," he replied quietly and slowly. "I came here to see you."

"Oh," she whispered. '_Why would he come here to see me? Does he know about…?_' Without realizing it, her eyes were closing and lethargy was spreading over her. He brushed his hand against her cheek, his voice soft and tender, "Get some rest. I'll still be here later." She nodded, not wanting to speak. '_This must be a bizarre dream. Don's never been this expressive towards me._'

* * *

(8:23 AM, Local Time)

Lisa released a low sigh of relief when she heard two voices speaking from within the hospital room. She waited until silence descended again before peeking in the doorway, nearly tipping her own chair over. Terry was fast asleep and so was her next-of-kin. The man was leaned back in his chair, his body getting some much needed rest after hours of tension. She quietly got up from her chair and entered the room, draping the man's jacket over him. He stirred only slightly. Lisa straightened and moved around him to stand by the bedside. Carefully, she took the older woman's wrist and, feeling Terry's pulse fluttering steadily underneath her fingertips, Lisa allowed herself to relax. She returned to her post outside the door, a comforted smile on her face. '_Meeker was right; looks like today isn't so bad after all._'


	9. Chapter 8

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: (peeps out from under her computer desk) Hi everyone, this story is back and looks to be finished very soon. (And this time, I swear, I'm not bluffing in any way or form. All I have to do now is proofread…and maybe rewrite…and edit…um…). I know there are some parts of this story now that are out of canon, such as the fact that Amita is an American citizen and thus has no need to deal with the INS or that David is currently dating a someone and not engaged to be married. But, hey, fan fiction exists for a reason. All right, enough babbling. Thank you to all of you for hanging in there with me and, now on to the story!

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(10:09 AM, Local Time) 

As sleep gave way to waking, Terry felt a person's thumb rubbing back and forth across her fingers. Recalling a vague memory from her muddled mind, she mumbled, "Don?" It was difficult, but she curled her fingers around his, stilling his movements.

"Right here, Terry," he said, his voice calm and soothing. He pulled the chair closer to her bedside as she turned to look at him. '_Okay, he's still here…so that means…_'

"I thought I was dreaming," she whispered. He shook his head firmly, "No, you weren't." He leaned toward the bedside.

"How long?" she asked, struggling to sit up. A sharp sting of pain pierced her chest. '_Have I been out for hours? Days? What happened to me? And why can't I remember?_' Don quickly stood up, leaning over her, using his higher position to force her to stay still. His touch on her shoulder was gentle and sent a small shiver down her spine. It surprised her at how little pressure it took to hold her down.

"Take it easy," he told her. '_Right…_' she glared at him, expecting an explanation since she couldn't remember what had happened. She had never liked being in the dark about anything. She also knew that she was taking her frustration out on him. It wasn't his fault that he could still make her feel like a giddy schoolgirl on her first date with just a gentle touch. '_Well, not entirely…_'

"It's Sunday," he answered, sitting back down slowly, his eyes full of concern.

"Oh." The answer startled her and she looked away from Don, trying to piece together what she remembered, her eyes not seeing the beautiful summer morning outside of her window. '_The last thing I remember is Friday afternoon, having coffee with Jasmine…._' She noticed a clock hanging on the wall opposite her bed. '_Sunday morning; so that's over a day that I don't remember._' Terry racked her mind, but she could recall nothing after leaving Jasmine on the patio. She sighed to herself and turned back to face her partner, "What happened? How much did Lewis tell you?"

The questions actually caused him to flinch slightly, but his voice was steady as he answered, "She told me that you were interrogating a suspect. There was a struggle and you were shot." He looked down at their linked hands and she saw the fear in him that he tried to hide from her. '_Jasmine must have told him more than that. But a suspect… How could a suspect have shot me while I was in interrogation? Who was I supposed to interrogate? Garcia? Ramos? Alverez?'_ The last name in the list triggered a deep-seated fear in her. '_Something happened when I was interrogating Alverez…_' An unreasonable terror began to fill her, but Don squeezed her hand and she returned it. He was the anchor that was keeping her from panicking and she clung to his hand like a lifeline until the alarm subsided.

"I'm sorry," she said. '_I didn't mean to worry you. I don't know what I did to get myself into this mess, but I'm sorry anyway. I'm sorry I broke my promise. And trust me, Don, you're probably the only male non-relative I'd ever say that to._'

"For what?" he asked, surprised.

"For getting hurt," she answered. He shook his head, "It's okay. It isn't like I haven't been busy in the office while you've been gone. The manhunt almost ended in a shoot-out."

'_And I'm sure you're never going to tell me the details. Typical,_' she thought, but said aloud, "I know; Jasmine told me."

"Yeah," Don looked down again, "I saw Coop again." '_Where have I heard that name before? He's mentioned it somewhere…._' It took a few seconds before her tired mind pulled out the right conversation.

"Billy Cooper?" she asked, surprised. From what she remembered, Don's former partner was a bit of a maverick agent who still got the job done, but never settled down. "Your old partner from the Fugitive Unit? You didn't mention it."

"Yeah," he said. "Well, neither of us had much time to talk on Wednesday." There was regret in his voice. '_From the way he's acting, it's like he's upset that he hadn't taken the time to talk to me when he was trying to save an innocent woman's life. That's not like him, at all._' Terry did not like the way certain pieces of her memory were falling into place based on his behavior.

A distant, contemplative expression had settled over his face and she knew that he was thinking about his past, the years she didn't know about in much detail. When Kim Hall, Don's ex-fiancée, had left, he had that same distant look as he watched her walk away from him. Terry had tried to tease him, get him to open up a little, but he just smiled tightly and she knew to just drop it. She waited for him to make the first move. When he didn't say anything after several minutes, she took it upon herself to prod him into talking, "How are Charlie and your Dad?"

"Doing well," he answered, coming out of his trance. "Dad took us out for a round a few days ago. Charlie's having a helluva time learning how to golf."

A sudden image of Charlie calculating the trajectory of golf balls while on the green popped into her mind and she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from within her. That is, until her giggles sent a jagged stab of pain through her chest, making it hard for her breathe. She bit her tongue as she focused on taking deep breaths, wiling herself to ignore the pain.

When the ache had subsided into something that was bearable, she looked at Don, who had tilted his head in question. She shook her head and he nodded, accepting her decision despite the misgiving written in his expression. Terry didn't want any painkillers; right now, she got the feeling that Don needed her awake and talking to him. He was clearly shaken by whatever happened to her and they both needed the reassurance and comfort of human communication.

She looked at him; he was thinking again. About what, she wasn't sure, but it was bothering him, and by extension, her. When he shook his head slightly, she asked, "What's on your mind?"

He shrugged, "It was good to see Coop again, brought back a lot of memories…" She waited for him to elaborate. He rarely talked about his career in the FBI after the Academy and before L.A. with her. She had given that time period in his life the cheesy, but accurate label, of 'The Missing Years.'

"What's bothering you?" she finally asked.

"Dad… he — I don't know how to put this," Don struggled to describe his thoughts coherently, "he basically accused me, well, no, he warned me not to distance myself from him and Charlie again and I don't understand, well, I do understand, I just don't… How could he think I could do that to him and Charlie now? I mean, I'm past it, at least, I'm fairly sure that I don't want to return to Recovery. Coop was a good partner, it's just… I've changed, he's changed and back then, things were different. Sure, it was exciting during some of the chases, but…" Don sighed before he returned to silence. '_In other words, you joined Fugitive Recovery to find yourself and when you did, you left for Albuquerque. But your father's having some difficulty seeing that you've changed. For some reason, he's still scared that you're going to disappear from his life again._'

"Don, as far as I know, you've never opened up to anyone about that time," said Terry quietly, "not to your father, not to Charlie, not to me." She hoped he wouldn't think it was odd that she listed herself. '_Because if he does…damn. It must be the painkillers or something. I usually don't make this many slips._' "Maybe you should talk to your father about it," she suggested, "get him to understand that you're past that now, that you're not planning on leaving them." Don nodded slowly as she processed her advice. She continued to wait patiently, watching his expression as he tried to put his emotions into words.

Being a profiler had made her a good watcher, able to wait out even the most stubborn people. She had gained the upper hand in many interrogations by simply sitting across the table with a suspect until they couldn't stand the silence anymore and started to babble, saying things they would have never said without being unnerved. '_Of course, I'm not interrogating Don. I'm just here as a friend, listening to him. Okay, maybe not _just _as a friend._'

"What is it?" she prodded gently, seeing there was something he wanted to say. Though he never hesitated to share his reasoning while working cases, he was naturally silent when it came to personal matters. '_I have no idea what's making him tell me so much about his personal life right now. Then again, we haven't been in the same room with each other since…since we kissed. Has it been on his mind as much as it's been on mine? Maybe, maybe not; after all, he's always so focused at work and we've both been busy._'

"I wouldn't trade what I have now to go back there again," he told her, giving her a look that made her heart leap. '_Don't take it as too more than it is,_' she warned herself, but a warm cozy feeling spread inside of her. "I mean," he said a little too quickly, "it's nice to be back home with Dad and Charlie." He looked away, his smile fading.

Yeah, it's still hard sometimes dealing with Charlie when he's in his own world and I wish Mom was…" he trailed off. She squeezed his hand in sympathy. The grief was still raw and there were unresolved issues, she knew, between him and Charlie. '_Hopefully in time, everything is going to work out…including this little issue between us. Why can't it just go away and leave me alone and let me be…be rational!_' A part of her pointed out rather petulantly, '_You certainly weren't acting rationally when you started this mess. _You _kissed him, not the other way around._' He took a breath and purposefully made his tone lighter, "but you know, Charlie's grown up a little while I was away. Sometimes I can still see him as a little kid and other times…" Don smirked slightly.

"What?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. Amita had called her once or twice and emailed when she could find the time, just to talk.

"You know that Amita's almost finished with her degree, but she's staying at CalSci for another PhD in astrophysics…"

"…which will mean that Charlie will no longer be her thesis adviser and professor-student rules don't apply," she concluded with a smile. '_I wish my situation could be as simple as that. A simple ceremony and Voila! We could date._' It wasn't that she was jealous of Amita; no, far from it. The younger woman had confided in Terry about her feelings for the genius mathematician they both knew, and the frustration associated with not being able to act on those feelings. '_And Charlie's probably slower in the romance department than Don is. At least I know that my favorite Eppes is capable of recognizing a crush._'

There was a memorable case the two of them had worked a year or so back, where one of the suspects in a murder case had developed a romantic attachment to Don. It was amusing insofar as watching her partner attempting to maintain proper physical distance while he questioned the woman. Eventually the one-sided 'relationship' went nowhere, particularly after the FBI discovered she was deeply involved in an unrelated kidnapping-extortion case.

"It's about time." She nearly laughed at the surprised look Don gave her. Instead, she allowed her amusement to seep into her voice, "You can't tell me you've missed the looks that they give each other?"

"No," he answered, "I just didn't realize that you noticed it too." He gave her an odd look, slightly questioning but not at the same time. She had never seen it on his face before now.

"Don," her voice was playfully stern, "It's my _job_ to notice things like that." '_If you've noticed Charlie and Amita, have you noticed us? How I look at you, hover near you when I can? I thought there was a moment that you wanted to kiss me in the train yard, but then again, we'd just escaped death. Maybe I misread your relief. Have you noticed how I've always glanced at you while we're doing our paperwork? Have you noticed how I've been avoiding physical contact with you because I'm afraid that one touch will lead to something more passionate, something that you might not want? And surely you have noticed how I've been fishing for information, on our stakeouts, through David, and teasing you?_

_Do you know how my heart pounds each time you execute a raid, that deep down inside, I'm afraid of hearing a gunshot, seeing you fall in front of me? That when I'm not with you and I hear 'officer down' over the radio that my heart stops because I'm terrified it's you, and that even when you're right next to me, I have to sneak an extra glance, just to be sure you haven't wandered away when I wasn't paying attention? That you're probably one of my weaknesses?_

_Have you heard the worry in my voice for the past month while I've been gone? I know you heard it in my last night in L.A., but have you heard it all this time? Why did you kiss me back? Do you really want something to happen or was that just…just a little act, a little mistake that happened because of my leaving? Are you in love with me? Do you know that I've been in love with you since the day you stepped back into my life? Do you know?_'

Don drew in a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something momentous. "So Terry," he said casually, not looking at her, which, for him, was always a tip-off that it was going to be a personal issue and, because it was personal, that he was nervous about having to discuss it, "have —"

Footsteps interrupted him and a nurse entered the room, a pleasant beam on her face, carrying pillows in her arms. Approaching the bedside, she chirped, "Good morning, Ma'am." Unlike any of the other nurses Terry had encountered in her years with the Bureau, this woman's voice was soft enough that the cliché greeting didn't sound nauseously cheerful.

Out of the corner of her eye, Terry caught a fleeting glimpse of disappointment on Don's face. She made a note to ask him about it later. "Let's get you more comfortably situated before Dr. Meeker comes." With Don's help, the nurse carefully slipped the pillows behind Terry's back before raising the bed, allowing her to sit up without straining any muscles. She winced as she settled back; the pain was starting to become a dull persistent throb as the painkillers wore off. Don sat back down in his chair, watching her with a worried expression.

"Agent Lake," a man's voice said pleasantly from the doorway. She looked up to see a tall, chestnut-haired man in a doctor's white coat, smiling at her. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she replied softly. He walked quietly into the room, his eyes clearly evaluating her answer, weighing against his medical knowledge and past experiences. He picked up her chart and glanced through it briefly. He murmured a few quiet words to the nurse, who nodded and left the room.

"That's not surprising," he remarked, not looking at her. "Any difficulty breathing?" With that simple question, the interrogation began as the doctor ran through a checklist of things he wanted her to answer. Everything was routine until she protested — a little stronger than she meant to — against being stuck in Virginia for three months. That's when the doctor threw a bombshell at her.

"Agent Lake," his voice was gentle, but firm, "you were nearly shot in the heart. You were very fortunate to have survived as it is. I would not advise you to fly _anywhere_ until you are fully healed. It would be too risky otherwise." Terry swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her throat, her breathing ragged. '_I didn't know… I don't remember anything. How can I deal with something I don't even remember?_' Don gripped her hand tighter as if he knew the fear rushing through her veins and was trying to reassure her that she had survived and there was nothing to fear now. Dr. Meeker carefully watched her reaction, ready to step in with medication if necessary to prevent her from stressing her body too much with an emotional breakdown. Employing Bureau techniques, Terry exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax.

Dying in the line of duty was a risk she took every day, a fact of the career she had chosen. But coming face-to-face with it was not a normal occurrence. She never went into a raid or arrest thinking that any of the participating agents would die. Maybe the suspects, if they resisted arrest or opened fire on them, but not her colleagues. No one lasted long in law enforcement if they thought like that.

Out of her ten years or so with the Bureau, she had only thought she was going to die a handful of times, perhaps in two or three situations. The only one she remembered with frightening clarity had happened during her year as a rookie, when a suspect had caught her off-guard and overpowered her on a raid. After several tense minutes, her mentor had managed to talk the man into letting her go, unharmed. But for Terry, those minutes had been an eternity with the cold barrel of her own service weapon pressed against her temple, the man's arm across her neck restricting her breathing, the struggle against her own instincts not to scream with fear. And while she hadn't burst into tears or fallen into hysteria, she had prayed fervently to God and to every patron saint she knew to help her, to save her. Her mentor had praised Terry later, for her stoic handling of the situation, and the very first of all her emotional walls were built with that single remark. Don's hand squeezed her hand gently again, bringing her back to the here and now.

When she could look at Meeker again, the doctor continued giving her instructions about her outpatient care. The first chance she got, Terry asked quietly, "How long before I can return to field work?"

Dr. Meeker looked down, gathering his thoughts, before saying carefully, "Let's just wait before we answer that question, all right Agent Lake? It will be a while." He discreetly glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I have to go; if you have any other questions, just ask the nurse to page me. It's about time for lunch for you and then get some rest, Ms. Lake. Agent Eppes," he nodded at Don before he departed.

"Three months…" she sighed quietly to herself. While a part of her was grateful that she had the chance to even be irritated at being stuck in Virginia for a season, the majority of her was missing L.A. already.

"It's okay," Don said. "It's not forever. Is if okay if I run down to the cafeteria for a moment? I promise I'll try to smuggle in a cup of hot chocolate in here."

She smiled, "I'm not sure that Meeker would approve though."

"Hey, it can't hurt to get some sugar into you," he grinned back and squeezed her hand once more before he left the room in search of food for both of them. She sighed quietly once he was gone. '_What the hell happened in that room?_' Terry asked herself. '_And do I want to know? Who was with me? How did the gun go off? Was anyone else hurt? Why can't I remember?_' A part of her wanted to scream with frustration, but her considerable self-control asserted itself and she remained silent, turning the issue over and over in her head. Her thoughts were disturbed once when an orderly entered the room and handed her a lunch tray. She gave the man a small smile of thanks, but she didn't make any move to eat. She knew she would need time to process yet another close scrape with her mortality. Soon, Don returned with a paper bag in hand and settled down next to her again, pulling her out of her reverie.

"You okay?" he asked, watching her as he took out a turkey sandwich, two plastic-wrapped cookies and two disposable coffee cups. The faint, familiar aroma of coffee filled the room. For a brief moment, a vague memory flittered across her mind, skittering out of reach when Terry tried to capture it. She knew better than to push herself.

"I'm fine," she said, quickly reaching for her fork with her good arm to cover up her lie. His hand gently covered hers, stilling her trembling fingers over the silverware.

"Don, I'm fine," she said again, trying to laugh it off. She avoided looking at his eyes. "I don't need you to feed me."

"Terry," his voice was soft. "You don't need to lie to me. You don't have anything to prove. When you want to talk, I'll be here to listen, I promise." She nodded, feeling teardrops gathering. He handed her a tissue and waited for a few moments, until her eyes were dry once again, before he said gently, "It's going to be a while before you can get back to LA, if Meeker has his way. What do you think the chances are of me getting Merrick to find a qualified profiler to sub for you?"

She smiled at him, grateful for the division, even though it was work-related. "I'm sure it'll be easy."

"I don't think there're that many people who can get Charlie to cut straight to the point," he replied with mock seriousness. Terry laughed then and fell into an easy banter with him as they ate. Eventually, the conversation touched on more serious matters, like who would stay with her when she was discharged and how her apartment had to be taken care of. Don, displaying his usual concern for her well-being, overruled her preference of staying alone. "Meeker wants someone to stay with you," he had insisted, taking out his cell phone. Before she could protest any further, he was talking with Jasmine who promptly offered to let Terry stay with her. Outnumbered two to one, she gave up and let them have their way. '_Though truth be told, I'm glad that I don't have to worry about figuring out who to stay with. And maybe Jasmine needs reassurance too, that I'll be okay. If my staying with Jasmine spares him from even one minute of worry, I'll do it, even though I hate being cuddled._'

Eventually, the conversation turned toward Daisy, a seven-month old kitten that had recently joined Terry's household of one. The expression on Don's face when she mentioned the feline was priceless.

"Who's been taking care of your cat?" he asked, slightly bewildered. She understood his confusion; most single FBI agents didn't have any pets since they were rarely home.

"Oh, I left her with my next-door neighbor," she answered before adding, "but she doesn't really like pets in general."

Don said something in reply, but she didn't hear it. Her mind had wandered slightly and she asked carefully, "Don, before Dr. Meeker came in, you were going to say something. What was it?"

It was probably the second time in her life that she had seen Don flustered. He shifted his weight nervously before glancing at her and back down to his hands. After an uncomfortable silence, he seemed to remember that she was in the same room with him and he looked straight at her, "Uh, I was —"

A sudden knock startled both of them and Terry automatically looked to the doorway. Lisa was standing there, apologetically interrupting their conversation. Glancing sideways, she saw that, again, Don had that look of mixed relief and annoyance on his face.

"Um, excuse me, Agent Lake, Agent Eppes, there's a call for you down at the nurses' station, sir. It's an Agent Merrick from Los Angeles."

Terry exchanged a harassed look with him. They had been expecting the call, but it was still unwelcome. She let his hand slip out of her grip and restrained the sigh that threatened to express itself. '_A case has probably come up and he'll need to fly out tonight or even this afternoon…leaving this issue unresolved. And I _wonder _why my life is deficient in the romance department._ _Sometimes_,' she reflected as she leaned back into her pillows and stared up at the tiled ceiling, '_I hate this job._'


	10. Chapter 9

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(3:14 PM, Local Time)

"Have you called his next-of-kin?" a woman's voice drifted in from the hallway. A man's voice replied, "Tried. Apparently his kid moved, didn't leave a new address." Terry saw two orderlies wheeling a hospital bed past her open door.

"He needs someone by his bedside when he wakes up. Emergency triple bypass; that isn't something you can get through by yourself."

"Yeah, you or me?" the second orderly asked as they moved out of hearing range. The conversation brought to mind something that had been worrying her since she had woken up. Don would, undoubtedly, soon ask why she had chosen him as her next of kin.

She did not know if she would answer honestly. She could beg that she had no one else in Los Angeles. But if she used that explanation, it was a slim truth. They both knew that most unmarried agents' families often lived out of state. Most agents, instead, listed their superior officers or close friends as relatives. But she had worked away from her family for years and Don was not her next-of-kin then. He hadn't been her emergency contact since she married her jerk of a husband…until he walked back into her life that balmy spring day three years ago.

* * *

"_So, how was the meeting with Merrick?" she asked her partner casually, not looking up from her case notes. Special Agent Louis McClellan sat down at his desk with a quiet sigh. Terry spun her chair around to face him. "Well?"_

"_Do you think I'm making the right decision?" he asked abruptly. She smiled slightly, "Are you asking me to profile you?" But that teasing grin faded when she saw that he was serious._

"_Lou," she said gently, "you've put in a lot of good years with the Bureau. It's your right to retire. As long as you think you can be happy, I think you're making the right choice."_

"_I think so," he said quietly. "It will be good to spend time with Charlotte."_

"_Then what are you worrying about?" She was not prepared for his answer._

"_You," he said._

"_What?" She didn't manage to hide her surprise in time._

"_I'm worried about you."_

"_Lou," she tried to laugh it off. "I'll be fine, really. Jack's a jerk and the divorce has been final for years now. I'm fine." He gave her a look that said he wasn't buying it, but he switched topics anyway._

"_My replacement is a man named Eppes."_

"_Eppes?" she echoed, surprised. 'How many agents could there be named Eppes? But Don's the SAC in Albuquerque; why would he transfer here?'_

"_Yeah," said McClellan, watching her expression. "You okay?"_

"_Huh? Um, yes," she said quickly, turning back to her desk. She hoped he didn't notice the hitch in her breathing._

"_Are you sure?"_

_She forced herself to calm her expression before she turned around again, "Yeah. I was just — surprised. That's all. We were classmates at Quantico."_

"_So you know him?"_

"_Yes," she answered. "He fits your standard of a gentleman. You don't have to worry about him taking advantage of me." At McClellan skeptical look, she told him, "I dated him briefly. He's a good friend and agent. It's going to be fine." Her partner nodded slowly, accepting her answer, before switching gears._

"_So what do we have on the arson case?" he asked, standing up and walking over to her desk._

* * *

A few weeks later, after McClellan officially retired from a twenty-six year career with the Bureau, Don walked back into her life and slowly taught her how to fall in love again.

* * *

"_I understand the two of you have worked together before?" The voice of the Assistant Director behind her brought her out of her paperwork-induced trace. But it was the replying voice that caused her to look up from the forms._

"_Yes," he answered quietly. It was just a single syllable, but it brought to mind moonlit walks, long conversations, stolen kisses, and a joyful love that was at once naïve and practical. _

"_Hi Don," she said with a smile that faded the instant she saw his eyes. They were heavy with worry and fear, two emotions she had never seen before in his expression. He smiled when he saw her and that was genuine, but she could tell it was slightly forced. Merrick_ _cleared his throat and simply said, "I'll leave you two to get reacquainted," before he disappeared._

"_Terry, how have you been?" he asked. She swallowed back her emotional pain and answered neutrally, "Doing well. And you?"_

_He nodded sharply, "Pretty well." There was something about his demeanor that prevented her from asking about his reasons for returning to L.A._ _She briefly wondered if something had gone wrong in his relationship with Kim Hall. Last she had heard was that they were engaged to be married. 'But why would that bring him here, to a demoted position?' she asked herself, but then promptly pushed that thought away. 'Focus and get him up-to-date.' In the following months, that mantra gradually turned into 'Focus and concentrate on the case.'_

* * *

Terry was certain he never set out to woo her heart when he became her partner. He had just been himself, nothing more and nothing less. Slowly, he had somehow become her rock when she became his. When he couldn't turn to his family, he had trusted and leaned on her to get him through his worst nights. When she needed someone to take care of her, he was there to make sure that she could decompress without worrying about the mundane things in life that often got tossed aside in their careers. She had fallen for his honesty, his charm, and his gentleness towards her. Terry wasn't one of those delicate flower types who needed to be constantly cared for, but Don was able to make her feel safe and secure, even when he wasn't there. On nights when the loneliness and darkness were too much, she just had to tell herself he was sleeping in the other room to settle her racing heart and bring her back to blissful sleep. When it came time to update her personnel file, she had filled in his name, praying that there would never be any need for the information to be used.

She knew her family cared about her, loved her unconditionally. But her family, while supportive, never could really comprehend her job — well, except Bill, her older brother. But he was usually overseas and notoriously difficult to track down. He understood some things, like the nightmares and the insomnia, but he was a soldier and there were differences. Soldiers didn't examine crime scenes or question grief-stricken families and uncooperative witnesses. There was no frustration at failed justice, the criminals who got off because of a technicality, or the cases that went unsolved. Her parents just wanted her to be happy, and if she was happy, they would keep silent about their misgivings over her profession and its risks. They ignored the dangerous aspects of their daughter's job, refusing to acknowledge the possibility of that fateful phone call. And Angela, called Angie by the family, didn't want to know what her older sister was doing — at all. Angie was a businesswoman in corporate America, a comfortable, well-paying, and above all, _safe_ job. She didn't understand the sense of duty both of her older siblings had felt that led them into the Marine Corps and FBI respectively.

That was why Terry hadn't chosen any of her family as her next-of-kin. They loved her and she loved them, but they weren't prepared to fully face the realities of her job. They would have nervous breakdowns when the hospital called, unable to make the right decisions for her if she needed them to. Don would. She knew that, deep inside her heart. He was her partner, a close friend; she trusted him to make the calm rational decisions that would be needed if anything like this came up again. And while she wasn't sure he loved her, she knew, for sure, that she was in love with him.

Love. She avoided using that word when she could. It reminded her of too much. Romantic love in her past had brought her only personal pain. It had been a difficult decision for her to let her feelings for Don go once they decided to part ways after graduation. True, it was her choice, and one that she didn't regret, to follow her career and make her profession her life. But a little part of her had stung for years, missing his presence. Her marriage had been a whirlwind affair and one that fell apart as quickly as it had started. That didn't mean it didn't leave its scars. Dating, for various reasons, didn't work. She didn't meet many men who weren't criminals. Her work schedule was so erratic that the occasional date usually resulted in a cancellation. And she just couldn't find the interest to date. Jake had hurt her so deeply that she wasn't sure she could personally love someone again. And love as an emotion for her? The FBI rarely saw love, unless it was in the form of grief or stonewalling. They saw hate and anger; violence and passion; jealousy and lust. Emotions clouded logic, put people at risk. Emotions fueled passions and grudges; each agent saw that for themselves. Love was not a factor in their job.

'_But did I go wrong somewhere?_' she asked herself now. '_Jasmine is married, even though her husband's gone on deployment a lot. So is Lisa; she always has that little smile on her face each time her husband calls her at work to check on her. How do they make their marriages work and why can't I_?' A part of her knew that the circumstances for each of them were different and therefore incomparable, but that didn't stop her from wondering.

"Agent Lake?" Lisa's voice interrupted her musings. "There a phone call for you. I think it's your brother."

Terry closed her eyes briefly. '_Bill isn't going to be happy. And chances are that will be an understatement._' Aloud she said, "Okay. Thanks," and accepted the phone from the other agent.

"Hello?"

"Terry, are you all right?" her brother asked almost frantically.

"I'm fine," she replied calmly.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"Don't get sassy with me, Terry. I want to know that you're not bluffing. And why in the world did you list your partner as your next-of-kin without telling anyone in the family? Do you have any idea what Mom and Dad were like when I called them to tell them that you were hurt and I didn't know how badly? Angie nearly had a heart attack when I told her. If Agent Lewis hadn't called me, I wouldn't have found out about this and I think I deserve to know when my little sister is hurt!"

Terry saw Don standing considerately in the doorway, wordlessly offering to give her privacy, but she motioned for him to come in. '_I'm going to need his support, especially if I'm going to call Mom and Dad. Thanks Bill, for scaring them. You know Mom's heart can't take too much stress._'

"Look," Terry cut in firmly, "You're in South Korea; even if you could get furlough and book a flight, that's still at least twelve hours. And that's not counting the time you'd have to spend convincing your CO to give you leave. And both of us know there's no way that Mom and Dad could fly out at a moment's notice and Angie's nervous enough about me already. She'd have a breakdown the moment the Bureau called. When I cited—"

"You cited someone I've never met! I know you trust him, but how could you not say a word about this to us? Do you have any idea how frightened I was to get a phone call out of nowhere, three days after you were hurt, that you were in the hospital and no one was sure if you were going to make it?" Terry heard her sister-in-law in the background saying something along the lines of, "William, for goodness' sake, she's in the hospital and all right, will you stop yelling at her? That's not going to help her recovery!"

Terry sighed, leaning back into her pillows, "Yes, Bill, I know, I know. I'm going to be fine, all right? I can take care of myself, so don't worry about me."

"Don't worry about you!" he repeated incredulously. "Did you hit your head too? I'm your brother; I'm supposed to worry about you and I do. Considering you're in the hospital right now, I'm very concerned. So are Mom and Dad and Angie. They want to fly out to see you. And so do I, if not to only make sure you're all right, but to make sure you stay that way."

Terry said soothingly, "I'm okay, William. There's no need to worry Mom and Dad or Angie with the full details. And there's no need for you to fly out here. I'm fine and I've friends looking after me."

"Friends," he replied, "Like Don Eppes?"

"Bill, a lot of people are going to —"

"Is he there?"

"Yes," her patience was wearing thin.

"He'd better not try anything or I will personally hunt him down myself."

"Bill, it's not like that," she said sharply. She heard her sister-in-law exclaim, "William! Apologize!"

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry, I know, I know, you can take care of yourself."

"I am fine, Bill."

"He sighed heavily, "Patricia's glaring at me. She says to tell you that I'm acting like a — I'm not going to say that to her, Tricia! — Just, do what the doctor tells you to do and don't push yourself."

"Yes, I know. I will listen to what the doctor said and stay in bed."

"Your word?" he pressed.

"Yes, Bill. I promise."

"Dang, I have to go; another meeting in five minutes."

"The joys of seniority."

"Yeah, well, I'm still melting in this heat."

"Be careful and stay safe, Bill; it is your last tour."

"I know. Love you, Sis."

"I love you too, Bill. Give my regards to Patricia and the kids, okay?"

"Will do," he said before they exchanged goodbyes and hung up.

"Do you have my cell phone?" she asked him. Don nodded and, fishing it out of the bag, gave it to her. She turned it on and scrolled through a few numbers before she hit dial. Don took her hand, silently lending her his support and strength while she fended off her anxious parents, reassuring them that she was fine and downplaying the severity of her injuries. She eventually managed to convince them not to fly out to Quantico to see her. The phone call to her sister was slightly tenser, if only for the reason that the two sisters never really quite understood each other. Angie was genuinely concerned, but the conversation between them was polite and slightly distant. It was partially because Angie once again brought up the possibility of Terry leaving the Bureau. That was something that Terry knew she would never consider; to her, if she left because of what had happened, then Alverez had won. She knew that Angie wanted her to be in a safe job, but she enjoyed what she did for a living, as much as someone could enjoy a job like hers. After bidding Angie goodbye, Terry closed her eyes and sank back into her pillows with a sigh. Don quietly removed the phone from her hand and placed it on the bedside table.

"You okay?" he inquired gently.

"Yeah," she sighed heavily, her back muscles aching slightly. She opened her eyes, "Bill just wasn't happy that I didn't list him or Mom and Dad or Angie as my next-of-kin." '_At least Angie didn't take much persuading. And Mom and Dad were too relieved to argue too much. I imagine I'll be hearing more about this later though… Either they'll be upset they didn't get the next-of-kin call or Mom will start hinting about a long-term relationship that will end in marriage._'

"Why?"

She looked at him, slightly lost at the sudden turn of the conversation. There was a sinking feeling in her chest that had nothing to do with her injuries and everything to do with her emotions. '_He doesn't know. He hasn't seen me…us. What can I say now?_'

Don hurried to clarify, "I mean, um, why did you specify me as your next-of-kin?"

'_Only you could ask a question like that and make me feel like this_.' Her tired mind struggled to frame an answer that wouldn't betray her true feelings for Don. '_Whatever you do, don't mention that you listed him as next-of-kin because you love him._'

"Well…" Her thoughts were distracted by her realization that the two of them were still holding hands. That was the way he was with her, supportive when she needed him to be and willing to back off when she wanted him to. He looked after her, teased her… Oh, was it all a product of her confused mind? Then another part of her whispered, '_What about that kiss?_' Terry wretched herself away from her thoughts; she had let the silence go on too long.

"A next-of-kin needs to be available to make any medical decisions that might arise —" '_I cannot believe I'm quoting from the FBI manual, but that's safe. Yes, it's safe. Well, technically next-of-kin should be a blood relative, not your coworker…_'

"—and I, well, I didn't think that my ex would be that receptive to the idea." '_Great job, Terry, you just **had** to remind him that you were married._' For some reason, she really wanted her inner voice to shut up. "And you know my family: Mom and Dad panic easily, Bill's overseas with the Marines and Angie's still delicate. You just…"

'_Think before you speak!_' her mind shrieked and Terry chose her words with care "just seemed like a logical choice. I mean," — '_Oh God, I hope this sounds right_' — "we've known each other for so long and, in LA, you were perfect for a next-of-kin. But I —" she cut herself off, "It's okay with me if you want me to change it…" She looked away from him. '_And now I've probably ruined any chance I had with him._'

Don squeezed her hand gently as he said quietly, "It's fine with me the way it is. I don't mind." Her heart skipped a beat at his words. Habit caused her to blank her expression. '_Did he mean what I think he just meant? Does he know what he means by those words?_' He looked down at their clasped hands, his thumb once again running over her knuckles in a soothing caress.

"This probably isn't the best time to bring it up right now," he said slowly, "but I wanted you to know… Just before you left, in the garage… That wasn't an accident, you know."

"I know," she said, feeling her eyes tearing up. '_Whatever he tells me next… I can't cry; even if it means that we're just friends, just colleagues, not — not something more. I didn't mean to lose control like that, but just the thought of leaving you… It was too much. And I don't want to read too much into the fact you pulled me closer to you and… you haven't lost your touch or your ability to leave me breathless. No, the fact that you kissed me back wasn't an accident. You wouldn't lie to me if it was._'

"Terry…" his voice had a quiet vulnerability as he spoke, "when Jasmine called me, I was… terrified. I've been stubborn, I know. I was afraid that if I said anything, if anything happened to you afterwards… I couldn't live with not being able to protect you." He paused; Terry could see how difficult that confession of fear had been for him. To her surprise, he gave her a small smile, "Not that you can't throw me to the floor in hand-to-hand, but still…. After she called, I realized that — that I couldn't stay quiet. You deserve better. You know that we can't go on like this, not knowing for sure." '_No, we can't,_' she agreed silently, willing herself not to cry. "So," Don's eyes met hers and he asked softly, "do you love me?"

* * *

She had waited for so long for him to ask the question, but when he did, it still dropped like a bombshell on her. There was a part of her that wanted to scream 'yes' in a highly undignified matter before she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him senseless. There was another part of her that warned that he might have just sensed her emotions toward him and found that they were not returned in like. And, above all, her common sense told her to stay in her hospital bed lest she do further injury to herself.

Unsettled and unsure, she fell back onto old habits and forced herself to ask calmly, "What if I do?"

"Then that's good," he answered quietly.

Unable to leave his answer be, she pressed quietly, "Why?"

"Because I love you," Don confessed in a low whisper. She couldn't help the happy smile that crossed her face, and frankly, she didn't care about staying calm.

"That's good," she replied just as softly, contentment and relief filling her, "That's very good."

"Why?" he asked, his slowly forming grin causing a warm happiness to bubble up inside of her.

"Because I love you," she echoed his words. Boldly, Don moved from his seat to actually sitting on her hospital bed. She leaned slightly towards him as he carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Then she relaxed into him, their bodies fitting together like their linked hands, comfortably and naturally.

"What now?" he asked quietly.

"I guess we'll talk and then we wait." She felt his chin bush against her hair as he nodded. She craned her neck slightly to look at him, causing her to move her injured shoulder right into his pelvic bone, jarring her injury. He shifted his position quickly to support her body better against his chest. They sat in silence for a while. '_A part of me can't believe this is real. But I know it is real; he really is here, holding me; I am hearing his heartbeat with mine…but how are we going to work together now?_'

"We're both career-oriented," she warned him.

"I'm willing to make some sacrifices," he told her gently. "This has gone on long enough."

"So am I." She tilted her head slightly. "We're going to be fodder for water cooler gossip." '_And the rumors will fly faster than the speed of light, metaphorically of course, otherwise Charlie would disagree._'

"So?" he shrugged. "I don't think we're the first. I heard something about a couple up in New York who managed it. Even though regulations forbid supervisor-worker relationships, it isn't impossible. You might have to transfer to another team, hopefully not to another office, but as long as I'm not your direct supervisor, there shouldn't be any trouble from the brass. Well, maybe some fuss from Merrick, but no one's going to listen to him. I hope."

She chuckled softly, "Both of our records are good. We've got a chance."

"Rumors are that the Director is thinking about forming another team in the office and your name's on the short list. You've put in a lot of time here and done a great job with David. With the importance of this case, you've got a good shot at that position."

"Let's not get our hopes up," cautioned Terry. '_But I hope that's true. I've just been a profiler for this case, but it has been a major case… Don't plan on dreams that might not come true,_' she reminded herself gently. "You know about how accurate rumors are. Speaking of Merrick, what did he want?"

Don sighed, "He wanted to talk about your replacement; offered to let me interview them here."

"Ah," she teased, "that should make your life interesting: an agent fresh out of the Academy." '_Though I would be much happier if you had someone with more experience to back you_,' she added mentally. '_Having to handle another new, inexperienced agent two years' in a row is going to be difficult. Of course, David isn't a newbie anymore, but he's still going to need Don's careful attention._'

"Thanks Terry," he said dryly and she grinned at him, "Anytime, Don."

"He also thinks that you're permanently sidelined," he tilted his head, his amusement showing in his warm brown eyes.

"Did he tell you that?"

"He basically implied it."

"Well, then we'll prove him wrong." They smiled at each other, but his grin faded before he said, "He wants me back in L.A. tomorrow."

"A case, right?" She had expected it. Even so, she snuggled as close to him as she comfortably could, careful not to twist her upper body too much. She wanted to remember every thing she could about him. She would need it to sustain her for three months.

"I'm so sorry about this, Terry," he hugged her gently and she knew he genuinely didn't want to leave her while she was stuck in the hospital.

"It's okay, Don." Out of habit, she hid her disappointment. It wouldn't help. Besides, he was still with her and they still had time. "You have a job to do. '_And I don't want to distract you from it. We both have jobs to do._' You don't need to stay here and watch over me. I'll be fine." Terry reached up to place a hand briefly on his arm, "I'll be back in Los Angeles before you know it."

"I know, but I don't know how I'll stand three months without seeing you."

"Well, we're going to have to." She shrugged slightly, "We've done it for one month already." '_Even though it drove me crazy, which may or may not bode well for our relationship._'

"True," he conceded with a small nod. After a brief pause, she switched topics, "So…I'm going to need you…" They continued to talk until she drifted off to sleep in his arms, warm and safe from harm.


	11. Chapter 10

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

* * *

Benson Memorial Hospital  
Quantico, Virginia  
(4:37 PM, Local Time)

She woke to find herself alone in her room. But the smell of Don's cologne still lingered in the air and the place where he had been lying next to her was still warm to the touch. '_He hasn't been gone long._' She looked at the clock. It was late enough in the afternoon for Don to leave. He needed the sleep. '_He's probably been by my bedside since he arrived in Virginia_ _and God knows he was stressed by the long manhunt before that._'

Then her eyes settled on the suit jacket draped over the back of the chair. '_I guess he's still here then._' She sighed quietly to herself, '_I hope he'll be back soon; we have a lot to talk about. Is that an envelope sticking out of Don's jacket?_'

"How are you feeling?" a sudden voice asked and Terry jerked in surprise before she winced at the pain as her muscles protested the abrupt movement. She hadn't seen the nurse standing by the IV line. The nurse smiled apologetically, "Sorry for startling you there. How are you feeling?"

"All right," Terry replied. She noticed the syringe in the other woman's hand. "What's that?"

"It's a painkiller," said the nurse, injecting the medication into the IV port. "We're going to start easing you off the stronger ones, now that you're awake. But this should be enough to let you sleep comfortably."

Terry just nodded silently. She hated being drugged, but the persistent physical ache in her chest suggested that pain medication would be a good idea for the next few days. Soft, familiar footsteps alerted her to Don's entrance. The nurse glanced up once from Terry's chart, but said nothing.

"What happened?" she asked softly, seeing him shake his head. _I hope his case didn't take a turn for the worst._ He looked up from the linoleum floor at the sound of her voice.

"Nothing," he answered dismissively, coming toward her bedside. "Jasmine just came by to tell me that I fly out tomorrow at 5:00 in the afternoon."

"That shouldn't have you shaking your head."

"No, but your guard and her husband are having an interesting discussion about rigor mortis and bodies."

"Ah," she nodded, "that would be interesting." '_I guess Lisa still hasn't figured out the Myers case._' Terry waved her hand at the white envelope tucked into his jacket, its corner sticking out. "What is that?"

He sat back in the chair, glancing at the nurse as he did so. '_One step at a time, Terry, just one little step at a time_,' she reminded herself. '_You know he's never been the overly-expressive type and you're injured; he doesn't want to hurt you. And of course, there is that little complication called regulations that will have to be dealt with, somehow._'

"Case notes," he answered reluctantly. "Your case notes." '_I should have known this was coming. Do I really want to talk about this now?_'

"Jasmine gave you the notes for the case I'm working on." she stated quietly, needlessly.

"Yes," he replied softly. With a final adjustment of the IV line, the nurse left the room, leaving the two of them to talk. When he didn't say anything more, she asked softly, "Are you upset I didn't tell you?"

"No," he replied honestly. "You didn't need to tell me. It probably would have given me more sleepless nights than I usually have." He sighed, running his hands over his face. "I know you can take care of yourself. Hell, I've seen you do it. But… warn me if I start getting overprotective of you."

She smiled at his statement; she had always known that he would never do anything to unnecessarily stifle her. "You've never been overprotective of me," she assured him, "and I've always appreciated that." '_Though you have to admit,_' a quiet voice pointed out in the back of her mind, '_that was before he confessed he loves you._' Her practical self argued back, '_So? He's loved me for a while. He won't change his behavior because of that. He knows that I'm fully capable of taking care of myself without his help, just like I know he can. Sort of.'_

"Terry…" he looked serious, "What happens in the field? We could get— _I_ could get distracted, even more than I usually am."

"And I won't?" she replied. '_He'd better be joking._' "We're just going to have to trust each other that we're going to work harder at being careful, for ourselves, for each other. Don't you already do that for Charlie and your father? Being careful so you go home every night to them?" '_Just like I do for you? Double-check my weapon and vest before every raid like you taught me to, by your example, ingrained as instinct?_'

"Yeah," he reached up to touch her cheek, "but they don't work with me, take the same risks. I don't worry about them getting caught in the crossfire if a raid goes wrong." She looked away from him, feeling disappointment well up in her heart. '_Do you think I can't take care of myself? You should know me better than that._' The comforting warmth of his hand slipped away from her cheek.

"Well, maybe Charlie," Don's voice wavered slightly, "but I don't have to face it every day." She could hear the distress that was still evident in his voice as he thought back to the Crane case. She didn't blame him. That day had frightened her too if her dreams were any indication. '_Is that what I'm going to put you through if I return to the field? Is it that same pain in my heart, that worry, that fear that you're going to be taken away from me so suddenly and I can do nothing to protect you that I feel every time we go out on a raid? Could I do that to you? But could I give up my career for you? Would you want me to?_'

"I can take care of myself," she said steadily.

"I know," he replied just as quietly, "But that's never stopped me from worrying." '_And by some miracle of blindness, I've never seen you worried._' She stopped and quickly reevaluated their interactions for the past year or so. She came up with numerous times when he had tuned into her moods, hovered ever so slightly near her after a raid, or just carelessly brushed his hand across her arm while reaching for a folder. Terry had always told herself that those were only accidents, or that he was just a close friend who was concerned for her well-being; apparently, they weren't what she thought. '_Then again, maybe I **wasn't** misreading your signals…._' Prompted by that observation, she couldn't help asking, "And how long have you been worrying?"

"I don't know. Years?" His soft reply brought a stab of regret that she quickly pushed away. '_God, if I had known that he's loved me…would I have married Jake? Would I be where I am now? I… It doesn't matter. We can't go back and start all over again._'

"And in all that time," she asked him, "I've only ended up like this how many times? You're going to have to trust me that I'll be as careful as you." '_And I know that you've been in my position more times than I care to remember. And you've never told me about any of them. To be fair, though, I haven't told you about the other few times either._'

"But I know that being careful can only keep us so safe," he said, trying to hide his agitation. If it was anyone else, they would have thought he was calm, but Terry knew better. "I've seen friends who've been more cautious than I am get hurt in the field."

"Don," she looked back at him, meeting his expressive eyes, "I'm not saying that being careful will always bring us home, safe and sound. I was careful; I didn't have my gun with me. And look where I am right now. Things happen, Don. But I'm tired of trying to predict them. We have time, right now, to be just us, just Don and Terry, two people who love each other. I don't know how we're going to work together after this, but we will figure out a way. I know we will. We've figured out a way for the past year or so. Because regardless of whatever happens in this room, I will still love you and I will still worry about you every single day. But that won't stop me from letting you go to the office every day or from leading raids or arresting suspects. I know you worry about me, but that hasn't gotten in the way you've treated me."

"And I don't think that's going to change," he said softly, his hand closing over hers again.

"That's good," she said, slightly squeezing his hand. "As for not being able to protect me," she smiled sadly, "That's no one's job except God's. We both know the risks and the statistics, but that doesn't stop us from accepting them and getting on with our jobs. Both of us know that Charlie can calculate the odds for our survival each time we go on raids. A lot of times, those odds are slim, but we've made it through them each time. The chances one of us being in this position again exist, are higher than most people, but I'm not going to ask you to stop doing something you love, and I know you won't ask me to stop either."

"I wouldn't," he answered, "Even if I did want to. It's who you are."

"It's who you are too," she remarked. Her eyesight was blurring. Whatever medication the nurse had given her was making itself known. She sighed and asked softly, "Hold me again?"

"Gladly," he smiled as he settled back on her bed and put his arm around her. She shifted toward his warmth.

"So," she said, "tell me about how David's doing."

"He's doing pretty well," Don began, in a soothing tone. "He's finally getting more assertive, less hesitant about making his own decisions." His voice, combined with the painkillers and the warmth of his body next to hers, gently lulled her back to a blissful sleep.

* * *

_Darkness._

_Complete utter darkness._

_That was the first thing she noticed. And hated. She had found that years of adult knowledge and logic never really did scare away old childhood phobias. Already, her breathing was ragged, wavering on the fine line of panic and control. She tried to calm herself, tried to orient herself in her surroundings._

_There was nothing to her touch. Just air._

_Something brushed past her, a warm breath on the back of her neck. She jerked away, one hand automatically rubbing her neck in a protective gesture. There was a whisper of a voice, too soft to hear the words, but enough to hear the tone: silkily malicious. She turned around in that all-encompassing blindness, her heart beginning to pound._

"_Who's there?" she demanded, her voice trembling. There was no reply, just a chilling, low chuckle that reverberated around her. Her panic broke free of her tenuous control and she fought her urge to scream in terror. Sudden light flooded her eyesight and she blinked watering eyes, struggling to see through the blinding haze._

_The three walls of shatterproof glass facing her were instantly familiar. Even without turning around, she knew that her back was to the one-way mirror that took up the fourth wall of the room. The table in front of her was set for an interrogation: a notepad, two pens, and a still-steaming mug of coffee, sitting innocuously on the cold hard surface. Her hands reflexively reached for and grasped the back of the steel chair in front of her. Across the table, the other chair was neatly pushed in. She looked around warily. She was alone in the interrogation room._

_A sudden weight slammed into her back, throwing her forward over the chair. She heard the sickening snap of bones as her ribs took the brunt of the impact. Her scream of surprise and pain was muffled by a large hand clamped over her mouth and nose. The coffee cup overturned and spilled the dark liquid across the notepad. She struggled to free her hands which were pinned under her body, but to no avail._

"_You're so pretty," a man's voice — no, Alverez, she knew without a question — breathed heavily into her ear. She couldn't stop the shiver of horror that went through her. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be working like this." She knew precisely what he wanted and the terror of what was coming sent her heart racing. She fought helplessly, trying to turn around and fight him off, but it was useless, his weight was enough to easily pin her down against the table. He laughed at her struggles and his free hand began to tug at her clothes. "Let's get rid of some of the distractions, no?" His voice was the voice of a predator._

**Check into human trafficking**. _She didn't have a clue why those words had popped into her mind at a moment like this. _Where the hell is the guard? _she_ _screamed mentally as Alverez's hand continued to roam. Desperate, she bit his hand as hard as she could, at the same time she elbowed him in the solar plexus. To her surprise, he just laughed again, "So, you like to play it rough, huh?" He flipped her around effortlessly, his hand easily catching both of her wrists and pinning them above her head. Her breathing was frantic now, but he leered at her, taking pleasure in her fear. She squirmed and spit in his face, anything to delay the inevitable. She was well-trained, but at an impossible disadvantage against the criminal. She kicked and struggled and he finally grunted in pain, his expression twisting into murderous anger._

"Agent Lake?" another man's voice broke in above her struggles, sounding unbelievably calm.

"_I think I've had enough of this." A butcher's knife appeared in Alverez's hand. The impossibly bright lights reflected off the weapon, giving it a macabre glow, as he raised it high above his head._

"Lake, it's all right," the second man's voice soothed, though now an edge of alarm tainted the reassuring words.

_The knife whistled as it traveled toward her heart._

A hand closed on her forearm in a near painful grip.

_She screamed._

"Lake? Terry, wake up," a concerned voice penetrated her panic. She jerked awake and flinched away from her coworker's hand. Higgins stepped away from her, letting go of her arm, giving her space, watching with concern as she struggled to calm her rapid breathing, her eyes darting around the room, half-afraid of the shadows.

"Terry," he voiced cautiously once she had calmed down from her nightmare-induced terror. "You okay?" He approached her again and gently put a hand on her arm. A part of her independently-minded personality was irritated that her need for human contact at that moment was so obvious. The trained FBI agent in her reminded Terry that human touch was one of the suggested methods of calming traumatized victims. But most of her was just glad someone was there to anchor her to reality, even if it wasn't Don.

She nodded silently, not trusting her voice. She felt his skeptical look before he said, "I've already paged the nurse. You've been tossing and turning for a while. And I don't think that's good for your injuries." Heartbeats passed in silence before Higgins offered awkwardly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Terry was spared the effort of replying when the night nurse walked into the room. She shooed Higgins into the hallway before performing a quick examination. After making sure that the stitches had held through Terry's nightmare, the nurse fussed with little things until another orderly entered the room. Both of them moved away from the bed. He murmured something to the nurse, much too soft for Terry to hear, but he handed a filled syringe to the woman before leaving the room. Higgins, sensing that it was all right now for him to be present, walked quietly into the room just as the nurse returned to her side.

"It'll help you sleep," the nurse replied quietly to Terry's silent question, injecting the sedative into the IV line. Terry didn't like it, but she kept silent. As the medication took effect, the nurse quickly rearranged the coverings in an attempt to make Terry as comfortable as possible. Higgins stayed by her side, a silent protective presence, until she drifted off into a drugged sleep.

* * *

(8:11 AM, Local Time)

Terry woke up the next morning, feeling sore and unsettled. She hadn't had anymore nightmares, but…bits and pieces of that evening were coming back to her, slowly but surely. She remembered her conscious decision not to carry a weapon, of Lisa handing her Alverez's file, of Kirsch being in the interrogation room with her. The attack itself was still a blank, but she vaguely remembered two frantic voices, pleading with her as she lay bleeding on the ground. It wasn't something she wanted to think about.

She spent the next hour or so alone, only having her silence interrupted by an orderly delivering breakfast. Jasmine did call briefly to check on her, having heard about what happened the night before from Higgins. During that conversation, Terry managed to persuade the other agent to at least give her an idea of what had happened on Friday night. The information, vague as it was, was still enough to disturb her serenity. But it was after she was done with her meal and the tray collected did she have her first visitor of the day.

A quiet knock from the doorway caused her to look away from the hospital window. Kirsch stood somewhat nervously at the entrance, carrying a file folder in one hand and his coat draped over his other arm. Judging from the fact that he wasn't carrying, she guessed that he was still on leave. '_I hope this doesn't get blamed on him. I wasn't carrying my gun._'

"Hi Kirsch," she said with a slight smile to put him at ease.

"Hi Lake," he replied, coming into the room. "How are you feeling?"

"All right," she replied.

"That's good to hear." He sat down and studied her. Terry saw the guilt that flittered across his features.

"I'm fine," she told him. "Now, what is it?" That question seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. "Dunne needs you to file a compliant as soon as possible. No one's happy about it, least of all him, but he wants to make sure that Alverez isn't going to walk, not after what he did."

"All right," she said quietly, taking the file from him. "When does he need it by?"

"The sooner the better."

"What if," she chose her words carefully, "What if I don't remember precisely what happened?"

"Dunne says the more you can recall the better. But he's going to be adding the doctor's statement to supplement yours." There was a long silence after she nodded.

"Lake…" he sat forward and she knew he was going to apologize.

"It's not your fault," she said firmly.

"Still, I was your backup and—he used _my_ gun. I'm so sorry," he lowered his head, clearly feeling guilty, "If I hadn't…" Terry quickly pushed back her horror, '_I was shot with _his _service weapon?_' to concentrate on relieving him of a burden that wasn't his to bear.

"If I hadn't been unarmed," she said, "then I probably wouldn't be here. It's not your fault. No one saw it coming. I should have listened to Jasmine and brought my weapon with me into the room like I usually do. But I didn't. I don't blame you and you can't blame yourself. Jasmine says that you disarmed Alverez and restrained him in a professional manner, even though it was complete chaos in the office. You did the right thing, Kirsch, and the doctor says that I'll be fine."

"And I am very thankful for that," he said quietly, his shoulders relaxing. "I should get to the office now. The team wants to visit you later on, when things calm down a little."

"All right," she said, smiling at him, "I'll be here."

Kirsch said goodbye and a few moments later, Don walked into the room, his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder. She couldn't help but grin at him. After he deposited his bag in the corner, he came over to her bedside and murmured, "Morning, sweetheart."

Those two words and the accompanying kiss suddenly brightened her whole morning. She laughed quietly, just because she wanted to, and returned the gesture.

"How did you sleep last night?" she asked, her hand lingering on his cheek before he sat back down in his chair.

"Probably as well as you," he said, his eyes catching the folder resting where she had set it on her blankets. "I take it you're getting restless?" he teased, nodding toward it.

"Yes, a little bit," she replied. "But I also need to file a complaint as soon as possible."

"You're kidding," he said, looking at her. His expression clearly was asking her if she was teasing.

"I wish I was," she replied. "But they just want the paperwork out of the way. Right now Alverez is just being held on drug trafficking charges, not for this. The sooner I get this done, the sooner Dunne can schedule an arraignment and ask for remand. And Kirsch wanted to apologize." She looked away from him briefly. "He was in the room Friday night," she said unnecessarily. Don took her hands in his and drew her attention back to the present.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked softly. She shook her head.

"Not yet," she bit her lower lip briefly, "I don't remember much. Perhaps it's better that way." '_But I will probably remember it all one _day,' she said silently, '_and I'm going to need you to catch me when I do._' When the tears came, he gathered her in his arms and murmured soft reassurances in her ear, carefully rocking her gently. Eventually, her pent-up fears from the past few days eased themselves and she was able to accept a tissue to wipe her face dry and to blow her nose. All that time, Don did not move from his position on her bed, staying close to her, being her rock as the emotional tempest of nearly dying swept through her.

When she was able to carry on a normal conversation, she was grateful that Don steered the topics toward the lighter events of his life while she was away. Most of them were about Charlie and Larry, a few about humorous little mishaps their coworkers had gotten into, like the time Anderson had purposefully dropped a water balloon on his partner's head…unfortunately soaking his partner's wife in the process. However, talk did eventually drift to work and, from there, to their personal pasts. '_It really does say something about us,_' Terry thought in half-amusement, '_that we talk about work before we talk about ourselves, about how much our work defines who we are._'

As Don answered her question about Kim Hall, Terry found that she was no longer jealous of the other woman. Kim had tried her best to love Don and be his pillar of support; at least when she found that she couldn't handle it, she had the decadency to end the relationship before it got more involved than it already was. From the way Kim was watching Don though on the counterfeiting case, Terry suspected that the other woman, while giving up marrying him, had not giving up loving him completely. But there were signs that she was slightly out of touch with him: the abrupt conversation with Don about Charlie's presence on the case, her tendency to sometimes stand a little too close to Don during briefings, her repeated overtures to reestablish a good relationship with her former fiancé. But at the end of the case, Don had ended his personal connection with Kim and, as far as Terry knew, spoke to her only as a colleague.

Her story was harder to tell. Jake had been adamant in pursuing and wooing her, but vicious in the divorce proceedings. He had accused her of adultery, something that was nearly listed in her personnel file as her supposed lover, he said, was her partner, a married man in his mid-fifties. The courts, thankfully, found his accusations to be what they were — lies — and ruled in her favor. But even now, years later, she was still bitter about what he had put her through. The emotional roller coaster of being betrayed and then falsely blamed for his wrongs had nearly wrung her dry. It had only been the unconditional support that she received from her partner and his wife that got her through the case with her sanity intact.

When she was done with her story, she glanced at the clock that hung on the wall, its quiet ticking steadily marking the hours and minutes before they would be separated again, but this time, only physically, not emotionally.

"It's three," she said quietly. He nodded, not moving from his spot. Time had flown.

"Don…" Her voice was gentle, "We've still got time." '_And I thank God for every moment of it._' He slowly pulled away from her.

"I know," he answered quietly. His eyes met hers as he carefully took her into his arms, being extra careful not to jostle her injured shoulders. She wrapped her arms lightly around him in a chaste hug. As she leaned back to settle on her pillows, Don gently pulled Terry close to him again. A slight smile touched her lips when she realized he had in mind a little less chaste.

The kiss was everything she remembered and more. It was gentle, yet passionate at the same time. It was a silent promise never to leave her and that she would not be alone, even though he would soon be flying back to the other side of the nation. She moaned quietly and he pulled back slightly, as if he was afraid that he had hurt her. But she smiled at him, taking a breath of much needed air before his lips closed over hers again.

"I love you," Don murmured after they broke apart, his arms supporting her back and her arm around his neck.

"I love you too," Terry whispered, a hand caressing his cheek as he gently lowered her back onto her pillows. "Stay safe."

"Take care of yourself," he said softly as he slowly pulled away from her.

"I will…." She settled back against her pillows and watched him prepare to leave her room. He kissed her one more time and then he was gone to catch a flight back to Los Angeles.

* * *

Merside Apartments: Units #19-24  
Quantico, Virginia  
(5:29 PM, Local Time)

"Thank you so much, Jasmine," said Terry as the other woman opened the car door. "You know you don't need to do this."

Jasmine shook her head as she helped her friend out of the car. "You've said that several times, Terry. And I do need to do this. You got hurt on my watch," Jasmine held up a hand to quell the blond-haired agent's protests, "And it will make me, and everyone at the office, sleep a lot easier at night knowing that you're staying with someone."

"All right," Terry conceded. "And how is everyone?"

"They know that you've been discharged, so we're all breathing a sigh of relief. But don't even try to tell me that you're going back to work tomorrow," Jasmine said sternly. "Meeker's already told me that it's at least one week off for you and I fully plan on making sure you listen to him."

"I know, I know."

With Jasmine's support, Terry eventually made it up to the third story apartment, but her breathing was harsh and her legs weak by the time they reached the top landing. The other FBI agent quickly guided her to the living room couch and settled her down for a moment to catch her breath. As she struggled to breathe normally, ignoring the ache in her chest, Terry knew she had a long road ahead of her. '_But I am going to provide Merrick_ _wrong about this,_' she vowed to herself. '_I will be back on field duty one day._'


	12. Chapter 11

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: Thank you to all my readers! Just one more chapter and an epilogue to go.

* * *

FBI Parking Lot  
Quantico, Virginia  
(8:54 AM, Local Time)

"Terry, you sure about this?" asked Jasmine after she turned off the ignition. "I really think that Meeker would want you to be resting." Terry nodded firmly as she undid her seatbelt.

"Yes," she answered confidently. "I have been resting. Meeker said that I could go back to desk duty after a week. It's been a week, and staying indoors has pretty much driven me stir-crazy, since I _know_ there's a pile of paperwork that I could be working on." Jasmine didn't smile at her friend's attempt at a joke. Terry sighed, "Honestly, Jasmine, I want things to be back to normal. Even though I can't go out into the field, I need to be doing _something_. I can't just sit around all day."

Jasmine nodded, "All right. Just checking. But," she looked sternly at Terry, "the moment you get tired, you're telling me or Carl, understand?"

"Promise," she agreed reluctantly. Then she glanced at the car clock. "Jasmine, if you want to be in time for the morning briefing, you'd better leave now. And you know that I can walk by myself now," Terry added, seeing her friend's concerned look. "Go."

"Okay," Jasmine reluctantly handed her car keys to Terry, grabbed her purse and got out of the car, moving quickly toward the elevators. Terry moved slightly slower, highly conscious of her need not to strain her healing body. She had nearly collapsed from overexertion once or twice in her first two days out of the hospital, trying to walk by herself without any support. Jasmine's panic at finding her on the floor had quickly convinced her to take it easy, for both their sakes. A week later, she was able to walk slowly with the aid of a cane to help her stay upright if her legs suddenly protested a lack of oxygen and she stayed close to objects that would be able to support her weight if she needed to rest and catch her breath.

It took about five minutes for her to cover the short distance between Jasmine's car and the elevator. But Terry was smiling in triumph as she leaned her good shoulder against the wall while waiting for the elevator, watching the nearly full parking lot in front of her. '_I'm not tired or out of breath. I can do this._' She was glad that no one was around to fuss over her.

While Terry understood her colleagues' need to look after her — she silently confessed to doing that several times herself to coworkers who had been injured — it didn't mean she had to like it. They meant well, and given how she must have been rushed out of the office… She didn't like to dwell on it; but that night must have shaken everyone, not just herself. The other agents would need the reassurance that she was all right and that everything would be okay. A metallic chime alerted her to the arrival of the car and a second later, the elevator doors slid smoothly open. She carefully slipped into the metal box and pushed the button for the third floor.

"Wait!" a familiar voice called out. Terry held the elevator doors open. She smiled slightly as Lisa Henderson jogged into view, dressed conservatively in a peach-colored blouse and gray slacks. Lisa was busy tucking her keys back into her pocket while simultaneously balancing a thermos and an armful of case files in her hands, so she had no idea who was holding the elevator for her. She paused for a split second when she looked up and saw Terry standing by the doors.

"Terry," the younger woman's voice was a warm mixture of surprise, concern and, oddly, relief.

"Lisa," Terry greeted in reply as the young agent stepped into the elevator. She could feel Lisa's quick scrutinizing glance, knowing that the other woman was silently judging if she should be out and about. Apparently, Lisa found everything to be fine because she turned her attention to a filled notepad in her hand; Terry had discovered early on in their acquaintance that the young woman only indulged in idle chatter when she was worried or stressed. A comfortable silence reigned for most of the ride.

"You know," Lisa said abruptly in her quiet voice, not looking up from her notes, "people are going to fuss over you for a while; probably why Jasmine didn't say anything about today. Kirsch's back on duty, still little shaky, but we all are." The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Just before Terry stepped out, Lisa touched her on the arm and, meeting her eyes, said honestly, "It's good to have you back."

Moving toward the security gate, Terry replied, "It's good to be back."

* * *

Federal Courthouse  
Courtroom #23:  
United States Government vs. Rafael Alverez  
Richmond, Virginia  
(3:03 PM, Local Time)

"Have you reached a verdict?" the judge asked solemnly, handing the folded piece of paper back to the bailiff.

"Yes, we have, Your Honor," replied the jury's speaker, standing up as he took the paper back from the court officer.

"Then on the charge of assaulting a federal agent, what do you find?

"We, the members of the jury, find the defendant, Rafael Alverez, guilty."

"On the charge of assault with a deadly weapon in the first degree, what do you find?"

"We find the defendant guilty."

"And on the charge of attempted murder in the first degree, what do you find?

"We find the defendant guilty." Even though no sound was made, half of the courtroom groaned at the verdict while the other released a sigh of relief. Alverez looked furious as he was handcuffed again by corrections officers. Terry didn't look at him, but she knew there was a small smile of satisfaction on the face of the person sitting next to her.

"Thank you, members of the jury, for your time," said the judge gravely. "Defendant is remanded for sentencing. This court is dismissed." The thud of the gavel released the court audience from its silence and murmurs filled the room as people prepared to leave. Terry ignored the angry glares thrown her way by Alverez's family members as they left the courtroom, knowing that they would not dare harm or threaten her on federal property. Her companion, Lisa, however, did not harbor such assurances. The younger agent stood up, blocking anyone from entering the row via the center aisle, and effectively prevented anybody from getting close to Terry.

ADA Kevin Dunne turned around from his prosecution desk with a slight smile, one that Terry returned as she shook his hand over the railing.

"Thank you," she said quietly, letting go of his hand.

"No, thank _you_," he corrected, picking up his briefcase. "Your testimony nailed it. I just put a few finishing touches on the case." The three of them walked down the center aisle of the near empty courtroom. "I hear you'll be going back to L.A. soon?"

"Maybe," she said in reply, noticing how Lisa stayed close to her. "As soon as the Thompson case comes to trial, and if nothing else comes up." The prosecutor nodded as he pushed open the door for the two women, "Then I wish I could say it will start next week, but Thompson's lawyers put in a motion to delay the proceedings. They say they need more time." Lisa made a quiet derisive noise that caused Dunne to smile and look at her, "I know. The case is almost airtight, but it won't be easy."

Lisa nodded, "True. How long will it be delayed?"

"I don't know, not yet, anyway," answered Dunne, escorting the two women down the hallways of the federal courthouse. "I'm on my way to Judge Mathias' chambers right now. But the chances are in our favor; those lawyers of his have had three months to prepare. If Mathias does grant their motion, I'll make sure they only get weeks, not months. Either way, you'll be first on the witness stand." He gave Terry a charming grin, "I don't want to keep you longer than you want to stay. We've had you for a while now, haven't we? Half a year, right?"

"Five months," she corrected mildly.

"Still haven't thought about maybe staying here permanently?" he joked. Terry smiled and shook her head. He had flirted with her early on in their acquaintance, but once she made it clear that she was in a committed relationship, he had graciously accepted her request to back off. Dunne was a nice man, a good colleague, but he couldn't see past her emotional walls and didn't bother to try. In that critical aspect, only one man had succeeded in seeing her in all her guises: Don. She missed him so much, but it helped that they called each other when they could. '_Hey, call me afterwards, okay? If you need to talk…_' Even the memory of Don's voice soothed her.

"Well, this is where I have to leave you," said Dunne, stopping in front of a sweeping marble staircase. "I'll see you both later."

"Bye," said Terry.

"See you Kevin," said Lisa, a hand already hovering at Terry's elbow, silently offering support. The older agent just shook her head in declination, unable to smother her smile at the younger woman's protective tendencies. Dunne waved a hand in farewell before continuing down the teeming corridor. The two women made their way down the stairs, through the courthouse's grand foyer and its front steps and into the parking lot.

"Lisa, is it all right with you if I make a call while you drive?"

"Fine with me," answered the young woman, unlocking the driver side door. Terry got in on the passenger side and buckled her seatbelt before she took out her phone. She hit one of her speed-dial numbers and heard it ring once, twice…

"Eppes," he answered in a brisk, businesslike tone. His voice never failed to bring a smile to her face.

"Hi, Don."

"Terry," his tone softened, became personal, and caressed her name. "How are you doing?"

"Guilty on all counts," she answered.

"Good," he said with an undercurrent of satisfaction. "But how are you feeling?"

"Relieved," she sighed, "I mean, it was a slam-dunk case, but there was always that chance… His family was giving me the evil eye afterwards."

"Do you think they'll try anything?"

"No," she answered instantly, "The cartel heads are all in custody, and Alverez is a middle man. He doesn't have the authority to issue orders. I'll have to watch out for his hothead son, but I don't think they want to risk any more family members in jail."

"Just be careful, okay?" His concern was clear.

"I know," she said softly. "Jasmine's made sure that someone's always with me." Terry glanced at Lisa, "Day _and_ night. How are you doing?"

"Good," he answered just as an elevator bell dinged on his end, "Nothing dangerous at the moment. I should go. I'll talk to you tonight? Hi, Thomas." The buzz of the security gate on the other end of the line told her that Don was entering the office.

"I'm on stakeout," she replied, and, already knowing his instant concern, added, "And I will be careful. I promise."

"Okay. Call me then, when you can. Doesn't matter how late or early it is, okay?"

"I will. Love you," she said quietly.

"Same here," he answered. "Bye."

"Bye," she said and ended the call. Terry looked over at Lisa and saw that the younger woman looked like she was trying hard not to smile.

"What?"

"Nothing," replied Lisa calmly, her lips curving into a small grin, "I'm just happy for you, finding the right guy." Terry couldn't think of anything to say to that. '_Just one last loose end to tie up,_' she thought, looking out the car window, '_and then I can go home. I can't wait for that day._'

* * *

James Carter Regional  
Quantico, Virginia  
(6:30 AM, Local Time)

"Thank you," she said quietly, sitting in the waiting area, the winter sun warm on her shoulders, a small carry-on bag by her feet. "You don't need to stay."

"Hey," Jasmine replied with a smile, "as the person who invited you here, I think I should also be the one who sees you off." Around them were sleepy holiday passengers waiting to board an early flight out to LAX International. Out of everyone there, perhaps only the two FBI agents were the most awake and alert.

"The whole office saw me off yesterday," Terry laughed quietly, not wanting to disturb other people's catnaps. "You've done more than enough for me."

"Well, it wasn't a problem for any of us. We're just glad everything turned out all right. The cartel's down, Alverez is in jail, the case's closed and we didn't lose a single agent."

"It's always good when it turns out like this," she said. Jasmine nodded and asked, "Will he be there?"

"Who?" Terry asked, pretending to be clueless. Jasmine sighed good-naturedly, "Don, will he be there to pick you up?"

"Yes, Jasmine, you don't need to call him." Terry couldn't help but smile at her friend's unneeded matchmaking attempt. "I told him as soon as I booked the flight."

"Good," Jasmine nodded in approval. "I should probably tell you that Lisa is being transferred."

"Where?"

"She doesn't know yet; she thinks San Francisco, but there's a chance she'll end up in L.A."

"Well," the older agent smiled, "let her know she's free to drop in anytime for a visit. You are too."

"Good to know," said Jasmine with a nod as Terry's flight number was called. "Stay in touch, all right?"

"Of course," she patted her purse where she had put everyone's contact information. Despite her brief stay with the Quantico field office, she had truly gotten to know her coworkers as friends. "Goodbye, Jasmine and thank you again." Terry got to her feet, unaided by any means of support. She was back to normal, and she was thankful every moment for that blessing.

Jasmine stood with her and walked by her side as Terry got into the boarding line. She touched Terry's arm and said, "Thank you for helping out. Goodbye Terry, and have a safe flight."

"I will."

With a brief parting hug and identical smiles, the two women went their separate ways: one back to the team of agents she commanded every day and the husband who would be returning from deployment in three hours' time and the other back to the team she had missed for so long and the man she loved.


	13. Chapter 12

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!

* * *

Mansfield Park  
Pasadena, California  
(8:39 PM, Local Time) 

"My mom used to bring me here when Don and I were little," he told her, gently pushing a tree branch out of the way. He motioned for her to go first and followed after her. He smiled at the little gasp of surprise that escaped her as she stood at the water's edge.

"It's beautiful, Charlie," she whispered when he came to stand beside her.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed, standing next to her as the sun slowly sunk below the horizon, painting the evening sky a glorious mixed palette of indigo, sapphire, fire and rose over a sparkling lake. The lake wasn't very large, but enough for a few ducks to swim around in. The air was warm enough to be comfortable, but not sickeningly humid, a welcome relief from the earlier summer heat. The park was fairly quiet in their secluded corner and she felt safe and comfortable, with him standing there next to her, his arm around her waist, her head resting on his shoulder.

Suddenly his arm slipped away from her body and she turned to him, intent on asking him what was wrong, but the words faded on her lips when she saw his expression. His hands were trembling and sweating slightly as he took hers, but his voice was certain and steady.

"Amita," he said, looking into her eyes, "I don't know when I fell in love with you. But I did, and I held back, because I thought you were unreachable. And then, you stayed and I didn't know what to do, but I still loved you. We went on a few forgettable dates, danced around each other for so long… Do you remember that day in the lab?"

She nodded slowly; she remembered. It had happened during one of Don's cases. The two of them were in the computer lab, anxiously running one of his equations simultaneously with her computer algorithm in hopes of pinpointing the possible locations for a missing group of children being held hostage by a local street gang. It was late at night, around midnight, and both of them were tired after a very long day. When the program was done with its computations and the locations rattled off via phone to a very tense Don, the two academics fell to talking, too hyped-up on caffeine and too worried to sleep. But exhaustion eventually overtook the both of them and they fell asleep together on a couch in Charlie's office where they were discovered the next morning by a highly amused Larry. It had been one of the more embarrassing episodes in her relationship with Charlie, but she didn't regret that night one bit.

It turned out that a very tired math genius was also a very talkative, reflective one. He told her about how worried he was about Don, how he wasn't sure how to handle his father's girlfriend, how there were still days when he was tempted to retreat into his inner world and how he was ambivalent about his refusal to do so. She had reciprocated, telling him about her childhood, her family, her fears, her dreams and nearly everything in between. She had enjoyed falling asleep in his arms, curled up to his warmth, knowing that she had done something to help make the world a little better. Because of their involvement, the children had been successfully rescued and reunited with their parents without any fatalities.

"I watched you sleep, and I knew…" he released one hand to slip into his pocket, "I knew I could do that forever." When he took his hand out, he was holding a sparkling object in his hand.

"And I want to." Her breath caught and her hands were the ones that were shaking.

"Amita Ramanujan," Charlie asked gently, "will you marry me?"

"Yes," she whispered after a heartbeat of thought, joy surging through her. "Yes, I will." He grinned and slipped the gold ring onto her finger, the red ruby catching the sunlight, giving itself an inner glow. Her face was wet, but she didn't care as Charlie drew her close to kiss her.

It was by no means their first kiss, but it was breath-stealing and blissful eternity just the same. They broke apart, not for air, but in surprise at the sudden rumbling sound around them. A split second later, a light, but steady, summer rain began to fall. Amita couldn't help it, but she began to laugh and soon Charlie was chuckling too. The newly engaged couple made it back to the family home, soaked, but laughing with joy.

* * *

Residence of Charles and Alan Eppes  
Pasadena, California  
(7:36 PM, Local Time) 

"So," he whispered to her, "What do you think?" He sat down next to her on the garden bench, watching the gathering of family, friends and colleagues swirling around them.

"I think," she replied, turning to him, her voice just as low, "that this is going very, very well. Our parents are getting along, my father hasn't issued any death threats against you, my mother approves as far as I can tell, my grandmother doesn't seem intent on smothering you, my siblings haven't pulled any pranks, none of our guests appear drunk, we haven't run out of food and I'm happy."

"That's good," he said, scooting closer to her body before putting an arm around her shoulders. "I wouldn't want any _Romeo and Juliet_ drama here."

She laughed quietly and he smiled, "But what I was really asking about was them." He nodded toward his brother and his girlfriend, sitting together in a semi-secluded corner of the garden. The two of them were talking quietly; whether they were exchanging naughty remarks or discussing work was impossible to tell. "What do you think?"

"What?" she asked, not quite following his line of thought. "They're perfect for each other."

"What do you think of her as a possible sister-in-law?"

"I'd be thrilled," she replied honestly. "Your father will be happy that he's got both of his sons engaged and married, finally. But he's not going to move that quickly though, is he?" Her fiancé shrugged, "He hasn't said anything, but David told me that there's an office betting pool on the two of them."

"Please tell me you didn't enter."

"Nope," he shook his head, "I know better."

"Has he found out about it?" She began shifting her weight so that she was half-sitting, half lying in his lap and the rest of her body was curled up on the bench.

"No, not yet."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?" she asked, giving her fiancé a look that warned him to answer in the negative.

"No," he shook his head, his free hand slipping into one of hers, "I don't want to get David in trouble."

"Good." Her eyes settled on another blooming couple, "What about them?" She nodded toward the couple in question. His right hand began to play with her hair.

"Megan and Larry?" he asked in confirmation and she nodded, not looking at him, her hand pillowed against his arm. "Neither of them are saying a word, and trust me, we've both tried. Megan's just Megan and Larry…maybe you should try, after all, you're the one who got him to tell us about his date with her." The FBI agent in question laughed at something her date said. The quirky, but much beloved physics professor looked amused as well. The two of them had been going out steadily for several months now.

She shook her head, "Yeah, but he was nervous and he _wanted_ to tell someone. We just happened to be around."

When he didn't say anything in reply, she assumed that he just didn't want to talk anymore, content to watch their guests interacting with each other, content to know that he was friend and family to so many. It reassured him, she knew, to know that there were people around him to pull him out of his inner world that he, at times, still inadvertently sank into. Soon, she would be his anchor, the one who would have the primary responsibility to keep him grounded, to love and cherish him without conditions for the rest of their lives and beyond. She didn't know if he knew she knew, but she had taken off her engagement ring the other day to keep it safe during an experiment and when she did, she had seen the infinity sign engraved under the ruby setting. She had grinned like a fool then, and just thinking about it now made her smile. It was so very him to declare his unequivocal feelings for her in that fashion.

"I love you, you know" he said suddenly. She looked up at him and smiled, "I know. I love you too."

"Good," he whispered, leaning down and capturing her lips in a quick kiss. They parted and smiled at the smothered laughter around them.

"Guess we're caught," she told him playfully.

"Hey, it's our engagement party," he pointed out, helping her stand, "we're allowed to kiss." He lowered his voice, "Your father's coming this way, should I run?"

She smiled and shook her head, "No. Just don't tell him we're living together."

"I'll remember that," he said, turning to his future in-laws. "Mr. Ramanujan…"


	14. Epilogue

Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: Indeed, it has been a long road to the end of this story and I hope you have enjoyed the journey as much as I have. I don't know if this is the sure, final end to 'Chances;' there is a partially written chapter/epilogue that takes place further in the future. If you wish, I will post it. Though I say it every time, I truly do thank all my readers and reviewers for their continued support. Thank you so much!

* * *

I have always known  
That at last I would  
Take this road, but yesterday  
I did not know that it would be today.

— _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese_, Kenneth Rexroth

Amita walked into the cluttered solarium, the winter sunlight streaming in through the windows. The room never failed to bring a smile to her face and relaxation to her soul. It reminded her of so many moments with Charlie: lazy afternoons spent discussing the latest mathematical theories, stolen moments of passionate kisses while grading papers, quiet nights gazing at the stars and whispered confessions of love in the darkness….

Sitting down in 'their' chair with her latest copy of her thesis draft, Amita almost immediately put her binder in her lap and leaned forward toward the small table. A flash of light caught her gaze when she had leaned back in the chair and it had awakened her curiosity. She moved one of Charlie's notebooks out of the way. Her eyes widened when her fingers alighted on cool metal. With delicate care, she drew the object out of its hiding place and held it up to the light. A small gasp of surprise escaped her when the crown of three small diamonds caught the sunshine and threw a brilliant prism of light around the room. '_This can't be Charlie's, so… oh my…_' A smile curved her lips before she laughed quietly. '_I wonder when he's going to ask._' It occurred to Amita that Charlie had told her earlier in the week that the whole family was going out on Friday night. When she had asked why, he had simply smiled and kissed her gently on the cheek. The satisfied look on his face when he moved away from her had told her that she wasn't going to get any more information from him.

A creak of the floorboards made Amita look sharply towards the doorway, her every sense on alert. She put the ring back on the table. She knew Alan was in the backyard, tidying up the garden for winter, and she also knew the backdoor squeaked when it was opened, but she hadn't heard anything. Besides, Alan always called out to her whenever he entered the house, asking if she needed anything. Her eyes darted to the stacks of paper surrounding her. Charlie had been jittery for the past week; he wouldn't tell her why, which led to the possibility that he was working on something he didn't want to — or couldn't, she conceded — tell her about. That in turn led to the somewhat, but not completely, illogical and impossible possibility that someone had broken into his house in hopes of gaining sensitive information. She reached for an abandoned glass sitting on the table. The quiet footsteps crept closer and her grip on the glass tightened, ready to throw it at the intruder.

"Don," she sighed in relief when her future brother-in-law appeared in the doorway, lowering her makeshift weapon. Momentary surprise crossed the FBI agent's face before he smiled at her and asked, "Amita, what are you doing home so early?"

She laughed with relief as she put the glass back on the table, "It's Thursday. After my morning classes, I'm free for the rest of the day. How's the case going?"

"Pretty good," said Don, nodding as he stepped into the room. "We're making progress." She noted that he wasn't looking at her as he spoke, almost as if he was searching for something….

"Good," she said, watching him shift a stack of Charlie's notebooks. "I talked to Charlie last night, about the case and things."

"Yeah," Don looked at her, shuffling a few loose papers into a neat pile, "and how did that go?"

"Well… he's going to sleep better after the case is over." Don nodded, his attention returning to his search. Amita took pity on him and held up the ring, asking quietly, "Are you looking for this?"

The relief, and then embarrassment, on Don's face was near comical when he saw the ring safe and sound in her hand, but Amita knew that when it came to Eppes men, they were sometimes extremely self-conscious when it came to romantic matters. So she just held it out for him to take. Don accepted it with slightly trembling fingers.

"Thanks," he said, his voice wavering between businesslike and grateful. She smiled knowingly at him, "When are you going to ask her?"

"Tomorrow night," he said, looking down at the ring. '_Well, that explains the dinner._' He took out a white silk handkerchief and wrapped the ring carefully in its center.

"Good luck," Amita said quietly, "I know she'll say yes."

"Thanks," Don replied, slipping the precious bundle into his pocket, "Well, I should get back to work." He turned to leave the room, "Oh, and I'll drop Charlie off when we're done for the night." He added as an afterthought, "At a decent hour for dinner."

"Okay," Amita said, hiding a smile. Ever since Alan had scolded his younger son for forgetting a dinner date with his fiancée, Charlie had always tried to make it home in time to eat the evening meal with his family. '_And I'll remember to set out two extra plates for both of you because you'll be too wiped out to drive Terry and yourself home._'

"See you later," he said, nodding a goodbye and smiling.

"Bye," she said in reply, watching him disappear out of her sight. This time, Amita heard him going into his old room, putting the ring somewhere safe, before slipping out of the house, the soft click of the front door telling her that she was once again alone with her thesis and her thoughts. A broad grin crossed her face as she settled back in the chair and opened her ring binder. '_Tomorrow night is going to be very, very special; that's for sure._'

* * *

"Did you find it?" asked Charlie quietly, pausing briefly in his calculations.

"Yeah," Don muttered, glancing at the open door, hoping that no one was listening. The whole office was humming with work, as usual. Terry was nowhere in sight, having left the office earlier with her newest agent to question a witness. He tried to look busy, re-skimming the case file when he could recite the whole thing by heart. He rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out what, if anything, he was missing that might crack the case. '_Fourteen bars of pure gold aren't something that can be carried around without anyone noticing…so why can't we find them? I like Phan for this, but we have no proof, and since we have no proof, we have no warrant…._'

"Don't freak out about it," his younger brother advised sagely, turning back to his whiteboards. This prompted Don to reply distractedly as he turned a page, "Yeah, says the genius who asked his fiancée to marry him in the middle of a rainstorm."

"No, it wasn't a rainstorm," Charlie corrected mildly, "It was a light summer shower."

"Well, I just hope it doesn't rain, in any form, tomorrow night. Put a pretty big dent in my plans. And are you sure you're okay with—?"

"Don, it's fine," Charlie put aside his numbers, focusing his attention on his older brother. "This is important to you and it's all right if, out of the fifty-two Fridays in a year, we don't stay at home for one night. And I promise that when I asked Dad and got him to agree with me, I didn't tell him why you wanted to go out. All I told him was that it was important and it would help both of us relax after the case."

"You swear?"

"Yes, yes I do," said Charlie with a hint of impatience. "I didn't say a word about your plans to anybody, not even Amita. In fact, Dad hasn't asked you about grandchildren lately, has he?"

"No," replied Don, "he's been asking you, but I won't be surprised if he does soon." He firmly shoved away any and all remote hints of what 'grandchildren' would imply, mostly because he was at work and if he got started… it could be a while before he could focus again.

"Hi Charlie," Don nearly dropped the file at the sound of Terry's voice, "did you figure out what was wrong with those accounts? Hi Don." He looked up to see his girlfriend standing in the doorway. She gave him a coy smile, teasing him, and Don didn't hesitate to grin broadly at her. He privately hoped that she hadn't heard a word of his conversation with Charlie. He wanted to surprise her.

"Ah, hold on," Charlie riffled through a stack of papers, found what he was looking for, and was on the verge of handing them over to Terry when he stopped and looked down at his scrawled, handwritten notes, "Actually…how about I talk with your accountants first?"

"No, that's okay Charlie," she smiled, "we're going to have a briefing in a few minutes anyway. So if you don't mind Don," she gave him a knowing look before returning her attention to Charlie, "Charlie, you're free to come and teach us."

"Sure Terry," the mathematician nodded. "Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

"Of course," she said understandingly, adding, "we'll be in the main conference room." With a final flirtatious smile directed at Don, she returned to work. He watched her go, allowing his mind to briefly wander off-duty, before firmly returning his attention to his work. '_Just breathe before you ask her and take it out of your pocket. As long as you don't drop it, everything will go fine…. I can't believe I'm fretting about this. Was I this bad when I asked Kim? No. But Kim is not Terry. Who knew a piece of precious metal could make me panic?_'

"Of course," he muttered to himself, suddenly seeing an explanation, "he's a metalworker. He'd have access if he wanted to melt something down. Charlie, were there any metalwork companies in your analysis?" Don reached for a stack of files, rapidly flipping through them.

"Uh, yeah, I think so." It took a second of searching before Charlie pointed at a region on the map, "Somewhere in here." Don glanced at the location and then at the file jacket he was holding.

"Right, Glittering Arts," Don nodded and grabbed his suit jacket, "Thanks Charlie."

"Hey, be careful!" Charlie called after him. Don raised a hand, signaling that he had both heard and would do as his little brother had asked.

* * *

"I won't talk…I won't breathe…I won't move till you finally see that you belong with me…."

Terry sighed happily, nestled securely in Don's arms after another grueling day at the office. The cases they were working on were closed, the criminals caught and justice wrought. Now, she could look forward without any reservations to a relaxing weekend with Don, Charlie, Amita and Alan. If anything came up — and she had grumbled to Don that it better not — David knew that he no longer had to make two phone calls to his colleagues, just one. By now, it was mostly accepted fact at the office that the two of them were 'together.'

It had raised a minor hailstorm in the office when their relationship first came out. One of the secretaries caught Don comforting Terry about a particularly disturbing case involving a woman being shot and killed with a bullet to the heart. It had just hit too close to home for Terry and she had broken down in the parking garage. Don had wrapped her in a comforting hug, calming her tears, when the young secretary had spotted them. Perhaps hoping to ingrain herself to her coworkers, the other woman had quickly dropped a rumor by the water cooler.

When the couple had returned to the office, they were greeted by some whispers and Terry had spent the rest of the day being the target of more than a few pointed remarks. The clincher, however, had come when Merrick caught wind of the gossip and called both of them into his office that same afternoon. But instead of reprimanding them, as he had every right to do and as regulations usually demanded, Merrick had told them to make sure that they maintained a strict separation between their personal lives and work (or else he would transfer one of them), that their on-the-job conduct remained professional, and that they were discreet in their relationship. Then he handed them two new cases and dismissed them. To say that Terry and Don weren't shocked would be a lie. Once word got out about Merrick's blessing — well, as close to a blessing that the couple was going to get from the Assistant Director — the gossip died down…slightly.

Since then, Don and Terry had been dating steadily, both of them making slow overtures to each other, enjoying the courtship instead of rushing into wedlock like they had in their youth. Even though they knew each other quite well from their years of friendship, it was fun to rediscover old quirks and uncover the changes time had wrought in each other.

"Terry?"

"Hmm?" She was perfectly content with her head resting against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. The whole family had come to this outdoor restaurant. Terry had briefly thought it strange, seeing how the family usually stayed home for Friday dinners, but Alan, Charlie and Amita had readily agreed. They had arrived at the restaurant and were promptly led into an open-air area surrounded by a grove of trees, lending the place an air of seclusion and privacy. Illumination came from the soft light cast by the strategically placed strands of lights, candles and the occasional lantern. As they dinned, the family chatted about their week and their work, though Terry, Don and Charlie held back about their latest case. While they were waiting for dessert, Don had asked Terry to dance with him. She had readily consented.

"Terry," he repeated insistently and she raised her head, a questioning look in her eyes and a playful pout on her lips. He stepped back from her and she looked at him in puzzlement, her playfulness vanishing, wondering if he had just spotted a danger or a colleague of theirs enter the restaurant. While it was accepted by their colleagues and superiors that the two of them were in a serious relationship with each other, they avoided overt displays of courtship when they could.

"Terry," he repeated with a slight shake of his head, his voice soft, reassuring her that there was no need to worry. "Do you remember that question I asked you about a year ago?" Her mind flew back through the months of their official relationship and she nearly smiled. '_How could I forget the day we saw each other again? The look of happiness on your face at the airport? That grin, the one you smile just for me each time our eyes meet? The way you kissed me breathless? I could never forget it._'

"Of course I do," she answered, doing a quick count of the months. "It's actually been…a year,"— Terry was surprised; time had passed quickly since she had returned to Don's side — "to the day since I came back from Virginia."

"Right, of course," he said casually. '_Maybe a little too casually,_' she thought, noticing that his normally steady hands were trembling ever so slightly. He slipped his left hand from hers and reached into his pocket. '_What's he doing?_' His other hand, placed on the small of her back, gently guided her towards an isolated corner of the dance floor, away from all the other couples. Eventually, they ended up hidden in the half-shadows of the trees, giving the illusion of privacy. He stopped and looked at her before briefly glancing toward their table. Terry followed his eyes and saw that while Alan was watching them with curiosity, Charlie and Amita were watching and smiling knowingly, even though they tried to hide it. She looked back at Don who suddenly seemed a little uncertain; something he rarely ever was. Little pieces of his behavior for the past two weeks started falling into place, pieces that led to only one conclusion. '_Is he…?_'

"You don't know what you do. Every time you walk into the room, I'm afraid to move…"

Uncomprehendingly, she watched him, her mouth slightly open in surprise. Sure enough, Don withdrew a small white silk handkerchief from his pocket and got down on one knee — his bad knee, she noted; at least, the part of her brain that wasn't threatening to turn into happy mush. His right hand had somehow slipped from her back and taken her left hand in a gentle grip.

"I love you, Terry," he said, looking up lovingly at her. "I have for a long time. You've been my best friend and partner for years; you know me sometimes better than I know myself. I want to wake up every morning next to you, raise kids together, and spend our years together. I want to share my life with you. Because of this, Theresa Lake, I am asking you to give me the honor of your hand in marriage." With a small shake of his wrist, the soft lights of the room fell on the shimmering silver engagement ring, the three small diamonds on top sending small prisms of light dancing across the polished floor.

It only took a second of soul-searching. Terry was beyond happy to say that every fiber of her being had no uncertainties about her answer. She loved him and he would never hurt her. There was nothing more she wanted than to spend the rest of her life with him. Oh, marriage would be hard at times — there could be no doubt about that, especially with personalities like theirs — but she was certain that holy matrimony for them would work. She was his, and he was hers, heart and soul.

"Yes," she whispered, overcome by joy, "yes, I will." Don smiled, his charm winning her heart all over again and ever so gently slipped the ring onto her fourth finger before he stood up, drawing her close for a kiss. It was then that Terry realized what song they had been dancing to. She wondered if he had chosen the song on purpose and then decided it didn't matter as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Sometimes, it was simply enough to take life as it came, with all its joys and sorrows, without trying to predict the next twist of fate.

"I've waited all my life to cross this line to the only thing that's true. So I will not hide. It's time to try anything to be with you. All my life I've waited…This is true"

"I love you," he whispered as the last strains of the music faded. She smiled.

"I know. I love you, too," she murmured as their lips met again.

Alan chuckled quietly as he watched his eldest son and his girlfriend — _correction, fiancée, my second daughter-in-law-to-be_ — kiss on the dance floor. '_Well, Maggie, looks like my hope for grandchildren will soon be fulfilled. But that aside, I'm thankful that he's found someone who loves him with all her heart. And I pray that they have many, many happy years together._'

'_But do you know how many gray hairs this is going to give me?_'


End file.
